


Never A Bride

by CourtingDisaster



Series: Modern AUs [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Always a Bridesmaid, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Modern AU, Slow Burn, minor mentions of past Jaime/Cersei, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-11 21:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingDisaster/pseuds/CourtingDisaster
Summary: (Modern AU) Wedding bells are ringing in Westeros. After an unpleasant first meeting, Brienne and Jaime find themselves being thrown together over and over as their friends and family marry off. After all, as Tyrion likes to point out, there really aren't any other groomsmen tall enough to escort everyone's favorite bridesmaid...Over the course of several weddings and receptions, Brienne and Jaime form a sort of truce, perhaps they even become friends. But Brienne isn't going to let the atmosphere of romance carry her away, no matter how handsome Jaime is...is she?





	1. Robert and Cersei

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was a reformed fanfic writer, but it turns out this pairing has drawn me back in. It's been a long time since I've written for any fandom and I haven't seen the show in a while, but I hope I've done these characters justice. I've been lurking and reading Braime fanfic for many, many months and decided it was time I wrote my own.
> 
> I don't have a set update schedule yet, but once I get a good way ahead with the writing I'm going to update once a week.
> 
> This story is unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy this fic and I'd love to talk to fellow fans!

Brienne quite enjoyed weddings, as a rule. She hadn’t been to many, but she always found herself romanced by the pomp and ceremony. There was something hopeful about weddings. As she was unlikely to ever have one of her own, she savored the details of each celebration she was invited to.

Today was proving to be an exception. The bride was absolutely stunning, true. The groom was one of those tall, dark and handsome types, but his cheeks were flushed already and he kept running appreciative glances over the women in the bridal party. His brothers and groomsmen looked like they were attending a funeral rather than a wedding, and none of the bridesmaids would stray too close to the bride in fear of incurring her wrath for some imagined failing or another. Even the guests seemed restless, and Brienne felt herself straightening the hem of her dress more often than was strictly necessary. Not even the view of the wide sea from the flower-strewn terraces of Casterly Rock could get her to relax, though close proximity to water usually cured any of Brienne’s ills. She nabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tried to focus on the waves instead of the edgy guests and furious bride.

She didn’t hear anyone approach but became aware that she’d been joined at the terrace railing when a voice piped up at her elbow.

“Rather a poor performance by the principle actors, wouldn’t you say?” asked Tyrion Lannister. He also had a champagne glass but he drained his in two long gulps. Unlike the groom, the rapid alcohol consumption seemed not to touch him. He turned sharp, mismatched eyes up to her face.

“Brienne, isn’t it? From Tarth?”

“That’s right. You’re Tyrion.”

“To then endless disappointment of my sweet sire.” Tyrion’s grin was cutting, but it softened as he continued to study her face. “You’re here on behalf of the groom, I take it?”

Brienne nodded, trying not to frown as she thought of Robert Baratheon. He was bombastic and charming, yes…but there was a cold, cruel streak in him too. Family loyalties or no, she couldn’t bring herself to like him much. She’d only attended as a representative of her father. Selwyn Tarth was back on the island in his “sickbed,” though she very much doubted he was alone. Both she and Tyrion glanced back toward Robert as he swayed through the reception with wandering fingers at the ready.

“I’m not sure which of them I should pity more.”

Brienne blinked in surprise and looked down at her unexpected companion. “But Cersei is—”

“My sister, yes.” Tyrion let out a bitter chuckle. “She’s also a bit of a harpy. They ought to make each other perfectly miserable. I’ll just happen to have a front row seat for the whole mummer’s show.”

Brienne didn’t ask why, if the bride and groom could hardly stand each other already, they were getting married. Political marriages had grown rare in the past century, but they still happened. This was especially true when the families involved had illustrious names like Baratheon, Lannister or Targaryen. Brienne wasn’t sure if she could have forced herself to marry a man she didn’t love no matter what the reason. Not that there had ever been even the hint of an offer…

“Perhaps if there are children,” Brienne said, turning her gaze to Cersei. Her hair was a shining crown of gold but her eyes were as cold as the emeralds they resembled. She didn’t look like the kind of woman that would embrace motherhood, but appearances could be misleading.

Tyrion shook his head. “Gods help any offspring the two of them might create. That’s of course if Robert doesn’t drink himself impotent.”

They watched him grope a bridesmaid. Tyrion rolled his eyes and laughed grimly as Brienne murmured, “I don’t think impotence will be an issue.” Before he could retort, however, they were joined by a third party.

Unlike Tyrion, the quick imbibing of champagne had _definitely_ influenced Jaime. His eyes were muzzy and he wavered a little as if the world kept tilting a few degrees beneath his feet. Nervous, reckless energy poured off him in waves. He brushed past Brienne without acknowledging her: his entire focus seemed to be on getting to his brother before the alcohol in his system dampened his obvious rage.

“I should kill him,” he said.

“While it would liven up this sad little soiree to no end, I hardly think a wedding is the appropriate venue for murder,” Tyrion replied. He didn’t sound particularly alarmed at his brother’s vehemence. Brienne wondered if the elder Lannister brother was always so headstrong.

“He’s a—he’s drunkenbas—I _hate_ him.” Jaime’s words were so slurred that she had trouble deciphering them, but Tyrion had no such hardship.

“Now Jaime, is that any way to speak of your new good-brother?” he asked, and though he sounded amused his words crackled with underlying malice. Jaime glared down at him with a jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack from the pressure. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but Tyrion gestured to Brienne before he could.

“Allow me to introduce—” he started as Jaime spun around to peer at her, but before he could say her name, his brother’s features contorted.

“ _Gods_ ,” he said as he took her in. “You’re _tall_. And so ug—”

“Unfortunately,” Tyrion said, cutting off the inevitable, “Jaime turns into a beast when he’s drunk. I’d beg forgiveness on his behalf, but he doesn’t deserve it so I won’t bother. Jaime, this is Brienne Tarth, not that you’ll remember that come morning. Go drink some water before that civil tongue of yours earns you a black eye.”

Tyrion wrapped a hand around Brienne’s elbow and pulled her away from his drunken oaf of a brother. After a moment, he did apologize and tried to explain that Jaime was a much better man than her first impression may have indicated. Brienne listened because Tyrion had been kind and amusing company, but she couldn’t believe that Jaime had many redeeming qualities. At least none other than his obvious physical beauty. For some people, that might have been enough to smooth over any bad feelings, but Brienne was tired of forgiving people for their unkindness.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brienne said. “He’s not the first.”

“If he hadn’t been so drunk—”

“It’s forgotten,” she assured him. “But…I’m sorry Tyrion, but I don’t think I like your brother very much.”

“Sometimes,” Tyrion muttered drily as he shot a dark look over his shoulder at Jaime, “I’m not sure I do either.”

\- - -

As the reception continued and Jaime’s condition deteriorated—along with Robert’s and Tyrion’s—Brienne began to pay attention to the whispers. The Tyrells murmured about something unnatural about the Lannisters, though they had heaped compliments on Cersei and congratulated Tywin for orchestrating such a fine match. The Starks had been more reserved when it came to their hosts, but amongst themselves they were candid. It was from Arya that she heard the word _incest_ whispered for the first time. She had been glaring through the entire ceremony and reception, and it was clear that Sansa had been doing everything within her power to keep Arya from storming out of the party in disgust.

Brienne glanced back at Jaime. He was still standing near the railing of the terrace, isolating himself with a ferocious glare or a snarled insult when anyone drifted too close. Was that the reason he was so obviously against this marriage? Because he was Cersei’s lover?

A deep shiver of revulsion ran down Brienne’s spine. No, she thought, she definitely didn’t like Jaime Lannister. But at least she wouldn’t have to see him again.


	2. Loras and Renly I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras and Renly's beach wedding is the first time Brienne isn't looking forward to attending such a romantic event. On top of remembering her old heartbreak, she's forced to endure Jaime's presence as a favor to Margaery. At first it's as bad as she fears, but...there may be more to him than she previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this wedding with every intent of keeping it all in one chapter, but it's turning into a monster so I've split it in two.
> 
> Also, Jaime finds himself a little tongue-tied by his forthright wench.

“I have a favor to ask you,” Margaery said when Brienne picked up the phone. Brienne hesitated; she recognized the tone of her friend’s voice. It was the syrup-sweet one she used when she wanted something but knew that Brienne would be reluctant to agree to it.

 

“Marg,” she started.

 

Margaery heard the note of caution in her response and was quick to cut off any preemptive rejection. “Before you get upset, it involves a wedding and I know you love weddings.”

 

“I’m listening. I’m not agreeing to anything, by the way, but I’m listening,” Brienne said. She was already regretting answering her cell phone, but she’d been facing another evening alone in her apartment and she’d been hoping her friend had called to invite her out.

 

“Would you like to be a bridesmaid? This is kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing so you won’t have a lot of lead time, but I know you already have a few bridesmaid dresses.” She could practically hear Margaery’s too-bright smile. “And it won’t be too formal.”

 

“Margaery.” Brienne’s stomach was starting to sink. “Who’s getting married?”

 

“Well, it’s…uh, it’s Loras.”

 

“Ah.” That was why she was trying to sell this wedding so hard. If it was Loras’ wedding, that meant… “Loras and Renly.”

 

“Brienne, I know how you feel about Renly—”

 

“ _Felt._ ”

 

“Right, sorry—I know how you _felt_ about Renly, but Loras and I both love you so much and it would mean a lot if you’d be a part of the wedding party.”

 

Brienne’s heart was twisting itself into painful knots as the rest of Margaery’s words faded into background noise. It had been a long time since she’d nurtured a crush on Renly Baratheon. She’d known him for years and their fathers had been friends of old, but she’d projected so many of her own romantic ideals onto him that it had been a shock to find out that he was in a loving relationship with Margaery’s brother. She’d been crushed and embarrassed and there had been no safe harbor for her: her affection for him was well-known. In that instant she’d realized how much of a joke she was to everyone around her. It had taken her much longer to understand how unfair it had been to turn him into a fantasy instead of learning about the person he actually was. Even all these years later, she still curled up into a mortified ball when she thought about it. Thankfully she was at home on her weathered old couch and she could hide her crimson cheeks beneath her favorite knit blanket.

 

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Marg,” she said.

 

”But Bri, it’s a beach wedding. It’s going to be stunning. And I’m going to pay for everything, I promise.” Then, when Brienne remained silent, she added, “It won’t be right if you’re not there. Please don’t let us down.”

 

Brienne closed her eyes as the familiar weight of expectation was dropped onto her shoulders. “Alright,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll come.”

 

On the other end of the line, Margaery cheered and began a rapid-fire explanation of the wedding plans so far. Brienne tried to respond with the proper enthusiasm, but she knew it sounded forced at best. She just hoped the whole event wouldn’t go as badly for her as she was expecting it to.

 

\- - -

 

It was going worse.

 

Brienne had arrived in Storm’s End just in time for the rehearsal dinner. She’d been lucky to make it this far: rough seas had made the ferry crossing from Tarth extremely long and unpleasant, and she wasn’t in the best of moods when she arrived at the beach side hotel where the rehearsal was being hosted. It was several miles outside of the city, nestled among coastal cliffs, and though the drive had been beautiful she was tired and anxious about the days ahead. When she walked into the lobby she saw the rest of the wedding party had already arrived and were mingling at the bar with drinks in hand while they waited to be seated in the dining room for dinner. She tried to relax as she spotted familiar faces among the guests, but then she caught sight of a head of golden hair and her back stiffened.

 

 _What in the seven hells is_ he _doing here?_

There was no doubt it was Jaime Lannister. He stood somewhat apart from the rest of the group, but he’d certainly attracted the attention of many of the women present. As far as she knew, he was no particular friend of Loras or Renly, so it made no sense that he was amongst the wedding party. Perhaps he was just vacationing at the hotel and had gotten caught up in the crowd at the bar?

 

 _Please let that be it,_ Brienne prayed. The sinking feeling she’d had ever since Margaery had asked her to be a bridesmaid—groomsmaid?—got worse.

 

She was about to make her way to the hotel’s front desk and check in when Margaery spotted her and rushed over. She looked magnificent, an elegant tumble of lilac silk and soft brown curls, and Brienne pushed aside the familiar stab of envy. Instead she plastered a smile on her face as her friend drew near and hoped her exhaustion wasn’t too obvious.

 

“You’re here!” The smaller woman threw her arms around Brienne. “I was worried, you’re not usually late. Was the crossing a nightmare? But never mind that, here: I have your room key and once you’ve stashed your bag, we’ll order you something ridiculously girly at the bar, shall we?”

 

Brienne nodded, grateful for the chance to escape to her room for a few minutes of solitude before facing the rest of the group. Once again, Margaery foiled her plans. She followed Brienne to the elevator and made sure no one else got in before turning to her friend.

 

“Margaery,” Brienne said, “if this is another favor—”

 

“We’ve paired you up with Jaime Lannister. I know you don’t really like him, but he’s Renly’s goodbrother and he’s the only groomsman tall enough not to look like a child next to you when you walk down the aisle.”

 

Brienne groaned. “I never should have agreed to this.”

 

“It won’t be that bad. You can ignore him as much as you want. Loras certainly is,” Margaery replied. “No love lost there, but Tyrion couldn’t come and Cersei _wouldn’t_ come, and it would have seemed odd not to invite a member of Renly’s new family so…” She gave a helpless shrug.

 

“Loras doesn’t need to worry. Renly loves him too much to even look at anyone else.” Brienne’s voice was soft. How could such an old heartbreak still make her sad at times? Margaery placed a hand on her arm and gave it an empathetic squeeze.

 

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s hurry and get back to the bar. It seems like you could really use that drink.”

 

More than one, Brienne thought, if she was going to survive this particular wedding.

 

\- - -

 

Jaime took his seat at the long table, running his eyes down the length of it. Though the wedding was a casual affair, or as casual as a Tyrell event could possibly get at any rate, they had pulled out all the stops for the rehearsal dinner. The table was set with antique silver cutlery and the centerpieces were racks of stag antlers entwined with the famous Tyrell musk roses. The scent of them was cloying, but he had to admit it was a striking combination. The plates were the sort of delicate old china that had no doubt been passed down for generations, perhaps carted to the hotel from either Storm’s End or Highgarden just for this dinner.

 

No one had really spoken to him yet beyond the normal polite greetings, but that didn’t really bother him. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to come at all, except Tywin had insisted one of his children go as a curtesy to their new in-laws. Margaery had requested him personally, which seemed odd to him: they didn’t know each other well and he couldn’t think of a reason why it might matter that _he_ was the attending Lannister and not Tyrion—

 

And then the great beastly woman from his sister’s wedding sat down next to him and he understood.

 

It was all about appearances, of course. That’s what the Tyrells were known for, and if Margaery had planned the wedding that was especially true. Apart from family, four couples made up the wedding party as bridesmaids and groomsmen. Cersei couldn’t have attended without throwing off the ratio of men to women, and Tyrion would have looked comical next to such a tall partner…leaving Jaime as the only option without resorting to a total stranger.

 

Well, if they were going to be saddled with one another’s presence for the next few days, he might as well start being civil.

 

“It was Brienne, wasn’t it?” he asked.

 

The woman turned furious— _glorious—_ blue eyes his way. “Miss Tarth should suffice,” she told him.

 

So much for civility. “Wench, more like it. Is this how you speak to everyone you meet?”

 

“We have met. You were drunk.”

 

“I don’t remember much, so I must have been _very_ drunk.”

 

“You called me ugly.” Brienne turned away, staring at the rose infested antlers in front of her. Jaime opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. He supposed he should apologize, but she’d probably think he was being insincere. He needs must say _something,_ but for once in his life he found himself at a loss for a clever rejoinder.

 

“That wasn't very chivalrous of me,” he managed at last. Brienne glared at the centerpiece, still refusing to meet his gaze.

 

“It was,” she said. Then she heaved a sigh. “But honest.”

 

What was it about this woman that tied his tongue up in knots?

 

“Honesty isn’t my usual forte,” he said, and seized his wineglass with relief once a passing waiter had filled it. He decided to use a little charm to smooth things over between them. He lifted his wineglass to toast her. “Sweet lady Brienne, I promise to refrain from any further observations about your appearance, how’s that?”

 

Brienne turned to frown at him. “I doubt that’s a promise you can keep.”

 

“Well wench, you can’t say I didn’t try to play nice.” He rolled his eyes and took a long gulp of wine. So much for a pleasant weekend away at a beach. This wedding was turning out to be quite a pain in the ass, and it hadn’t even started yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Brienne finds herself reluctantly concerned for our favorite one-handed lion. Jaime continues to be tongue-tied and Tyrion is amused at his expense.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to share more with you!


	3. Loras and Renly II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festivities continue. So do unwelcome revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer! I don't have an excuse at all. I knew exactly where I was going but it took much longer to get there than I thought it would.
> 
> This one's the longest chapter yet and mostly in Jaime's POV. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading!!

Brienne stepped out onto the pristine sand and gave a sigh as she spotted the area reserved for the wedding. The day was bright and perfect, with a heartbreakingly blue sea and enough of a breeze that even the heavy scent of the Tyrell roses weren’t too overpowering. There were plenty of them: they were woven through a wooden trellis which curved over the shallow stage which served as an alter. They were also bundled with baby’s breath at the end of every row of chairs. Embroidered stags ran down the length of the carpet that ran up to the alter. Pale silk sheets were tied back to frame the trellis as well, and when Brienne shaded her eyes she saw that they were colored: a ombré of pastel rainbow colors which matched the grooms’ ties.

“Renly’s idea.” Jaime had also emerged from the hotel. He came to a stop at her side and gestured to the rainbow fabric. “Rather heavy on the symbology if you ask me, but it’s his happy day.”

“That’s right, it is. And I think it’s lovely,” Brienne said. She was nothing if not loyal, and Renly had still been kinder to her than any other man, present company most definitely included. Jaime slanted her an amused look.

“Do you now, wench?” It sounded like he didn’t believe her at all. She tried not to grind her teeth. She’d never been a good liar. “Though…if it was his idea to put you in heels too, I’ll have to thank him.”

Brienne snorted even as blood rushed up her neck and over her cheeks. “Margaery’s to blame for that.”

“Smart girl.”

“I’m four inches taller than you in these things, and that carpet is on sand. It’ll be a miracle if my ankles survive. Besides, flirting’s not going to work. I already think you’re an ass.”

Jaime shrugged. “Some women like that.”

“Some women are stupid,” Brienne snapped, and he surprised her by throwing back his head and laughing. His golden hair glinted in the sun and she wished he wasn’t so handsome. Every time she experienced a tug of physical attraction to him, it felt like a betrayal. Yet how could she help her body’s instinctive reaction? He seemed to have been sculpted by the gods themselves. _I’m only human,_ she reminded herself. And even if she wasn’t completely immune to his charms, she found it easier to resist him when she remembered their first meeting.

The arrival of the other groomsmen and maids saved her from further self-examination. They prepared to walk down the aisle while the guests began talking their seats. Margaery was ahead of her in the procession, and she glanced back to make sure Brienne was doing alright. She forced a smile at her friend: it was her brother’s wedding and she had better things to worry about than Brienne’s comfort. Then the music began and Jaime offered her his arm.

She slid her arm through his, appreciating their similarity in height because for once she didn’t have to slouch as they began walking. She felt a flush creep up her cheeks as the guests turned to watch their progress down the aisle. For some no doubt nefarious reason, Jaime seemed amused by her reaction.

“Don’t tell me you’re a shy wench,” he murmured to her with a grin.

She didn’t dignify that with an answer, but he was like a dog with a bone. His elbow poked into her ribs.

“You _are_ shy.” He sounded delighted by this revelation. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Not all of us enjoy being the center of attention, Lannister.” She could feel her cheeks getting hotter and was grateful they were almost to the end of the aisle. Once Loras and Renly appeared, no one would be paying attention to them.

“I’d think you’d be used to it,” Jaime said. “You’re not exactly inconspicuous.”

Brienne chose to answer him with silence again, and then they were at the alter and they separated to take their spots on either side of the stage.

“See?” Margaery whispered. “You two are doing just fine.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched,” Brienne replied. “There’s still the reception.”

Then the grooms appeared and everyone fell silent and watched as they came forward and pledged their eternal love.

 

\- - -

 

Jaime wasn’t sure why he was so determined to end up on not-unfriendly terms with Brienne. He didn’t generally concern himself with other people’s opinions of him. Brienne shouldn’t have been special, yet he found himself looking forward to teasing her. Each scowl or blush made him greedy for another; it reminded him of his childhood on the Rock, trying desperately to coax a smile from his miserable brother. It was easy enough to rile her what with that iron-cast sense of honor she had. She used that superior morality like a shield between them, but if he chipped away at it enough maybe he’d find his way past her defenses.

_And then what?_ he asked himself. It was a question he didn’t have an answer to—yet.

He spent the two hours between the wedding and the reception changing into a new suit and primping a bit, but he still spent the last forty-five minutes pacing his room. His stump hurt, even with the prosthetic sock protecting his skin. It was just one more annoyance to endure. Teasing Brienne had become unexpectedly fun, but he was still looking forward to heading home. All these flowery displays of love reminded him that he was, and would probably always be, alone. His own love was impossible, and he wasn’t the type of man to settle for anything he didn’t really want. The faster he got away from all these unobtainable examples of domestic bliss, the better.

At the appointed hour, Jaime stepped out of his hotel room just as Brienne stepped out of hers. He hadn’t realized they’d been quartered right next to one another and judging by the look on her face, Brienne hadn’t realized it either. She had also changed: her long Grecian-style bridesmaid dress had been exchanged for a short, blue number and strappy heels. It felt like it took him a full minute to drag his eyes up the long, glorious expanse of her bare legs, and by the time their gazes met her face was flaming with embarrassed fury.

“Stop that!” she said.

“Stop what?” he asked, fighting hard not to grin.

“Stop… _oogling_.” She made the word sound downright filthy and her cheeks reddened even further. Teasing her was much too easy.

“Ah wench, you’re a cruel one. How’d you guess I was a leg man?”

Brienne looked flabbergasted. Her mouth dropped open in outrage before she managed to sputter, “I most certainly didn’t—you didn’t—this outfit had nothing to do with you and your…your _preferences_!”

His only response was to laugh. She glared at him for another moment and then turned on her heel and marched toward the elevators as though she was on a mission. He followed, still chuckling, and managed to slip into the same elevator as her. There was a stubborn look on her face and she didn’t say a word. Jaime leaned back against the wall and smiled to himself, which made her glare even more severe. Then, just as the doors dinged open and they stepped out, he turned to her, bowed with exaggerated flourish, and asked her for the first dance.

“We _have_ to dance together first. We’re supposed to join Renly and Loras after their first dance, just like the rest of the groomspeople—” she said, but Jaime cut her off with another laugh.

“One way or another, I’m going to teach you what a joke is,” he told her before pulling her into the ballroom by her elbow. Just like every other part of this wedding, the decorations were roses and rainbows. The stag antlers had made a return appearance as well. The wedding cake had a place of honor and groups of guests lingered around it as they waited for the happily wedded couple to arrive. Brienne and Jaime lingered at the edge of the gathering. He had run in the same circles as most of the Tyrells and had brushed shoulders with the Starks. The Baratheons were the loud-mouthed newcomers to the higher classes, quickly making themselves known to the more established families. It wasn’t as though he had to isolate himself in a corner with Brienne…it was just that he was in no mood to exchange pleasantries with anyone in the crowd.

The newlyweds made their way into the ballroom and were greeted with the expected fanfare. Jaime didn’t pay much attention and he didn’t clap: his amputated wrist was too irritated for that. Then it was time for drinks, cake-cutting and toasts.

Renly arrived at Brienne’s side with a microphone, and he shoved it into her hand before she could finish protesting that she was terrible at speeches. Jaime watched the red of her flush sweep up her neck and flood her cheeks, and there was a despair so profound in her eyes that for a moment he felt bad for teasing her so relentlessly. Then she began to speak.

“Well, uh, most of you know that I’ve known Renly almost my whole life. He is kind, and good, and thoughtful. He goes out of his way to make people feel as though they matter. He even noticed a lonely, ugly little girl at a school dance one time, and made sure she wasn’t doomed to be a wallflower.” Brienne’s smile was fond and bittersweet, and Jaime realized that she was referring to herself. He pictured her as alone and friendless as Tyrion had always been when he was growing up, and a wave of protectiveness crashed over him. He shoved the urge down; protecting people had only ever gotten him into trouble.

“I haven’t known Loras as long, but I do know that he is clever and gracious. I know he loves Renly, and Renly loves him back tremendously. There’s no doubt in my mind that their love will last a lifetime. Please join me in lifting a glass to such a remarkable pair of men. I wish you great joy,” she said. She drained her champagne glass and smiled, shoving the microphone back into Renly’s hands as the room erupted in applause. Then she spun away from everyone and took a slice of cake. She focused in on it with a kind of razor-sharp intensity, as though it might teleport her far away from this room and these people, Jaime included. He took a deep breath and found himself struggling to keep his hand from reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

After a few more toasts, Loras and Renly took the floor for their first dance. In all that time Jaime hadn’t thought of anything to say to his reluctant companion, so he hadn’t said anything at all. They had one more public duty to preform, so he held out his hand to her when the first dance was over and escorted her onto the floor. She didn’t protest but there was a deep weariness in her eyes that told him she just wanted to be alone. He understood that feeling all too well.

“You love him,” Jaime said as they began to dance. “Even though-?”

“Don’t you mock me,” she replied in a low, tight voice. “Don’t you dare mock me.”

“Relax, wench. I’m not mocking you. I’m just curious.”

There was a long period of silence, long enough that Jaime didn’t think she was ever going to answer him, but finally she said, “I loved him very much, once. I didn’t know he was gay.”

Jaime blinked in mild surprise. “I didn’t realize he’d ever tried to hide it.”

“He didn’t, but…I was naive.” To his horror, tears began flooding Brienne’s astonishing eyes. “I was a fool.”

He didn’t respond: he was altogether too familiar with that feeling, but he didn’t think she would appreciate the comparison and he didn’t feel like spilling his secrets tonight. They danced on, spinning around the ballroom in what was—shockingly—a comfortable silence. She was miserable and he wasn’t too happy either, but it seemed like for once they were on the same side. And though Jaime usually relished stirring the pot, he found he was tired of fighting. Dancing with her felt like a relief, an unexpected respite from the rest of the world—

He gave himself a hard mental shake before his thoughts drifted too far down that path. She was ugly and she hated him. He was someone to be tolerated, not befriended, and hadn’t he just been reminding himself that championing the downtrodden had never worked? He was saved from further introspection when her grip shifted on his prosthetic and he let out a soft hiss before he could stop himself.

“Did I hurt you?” Brienne asked. The tears were gone, replaced by concern, and Jaime was unfamiliar enough with being the object of such consideration that he found himself unable to speak. “Jaime?” she pressed.

“No,” he managed. “The damn thing chafes sometimes. I…mayhaps some sand got into the sock earlier.”

Brienne glanced at his prosthetic. She seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Wait for me in the lobby,” she said and was out of his arms before he could ask her what she was about. He watched her march across the ballroom toward a group of women, then he turned and wandered into the hotel’s lobby. He had to admit he was curious, but wary as well.

He didn’t have long to wait. Brienne joined him in the lobby with a small, plastic pot in her hands. He glanced at it but couldn’t make out the words on the side as she pulled him to a decorative couch.

“Take that off,” she said.

“My hand?” he asked. He was still confused, but also distracted by the way her nose scrunched up as she twisted open the little pot in her lap. She hummed in agreement and dipped her fingers into the thick, white cream in the pot. With a start, Jaime realized it was a diaper cream, meant to soothe rashes on delicate skin.

He pulled off the prosthetic and protective sock. The skin beneath was irritated and sensitive, but he hadn’t rubbed it completely raw. He was about to offer to put the cream on himself when she took his wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip and spread it over his stump without a moment’s hesitation.

No one had ever touched his stump. No one except his doctors. Not his father, not Cersei, not even Tyrion. But here was Brienne of the three-mile-long legs, her fingers skimming over the knotted flesh without any discomfort or disgust. The relief from the cream was immediate, but he couldn’t appreciate it. Not when she’d just dismantled him to the core. He felt exposed, utterly defenseless and yet…safe. She wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t grimace at his scars…

_Breathe,_ he reminded himself. _Just breathe._

He tried, he really did, but his chest felt as though it had been electrified and his heart was throbbing hard against his ribs.

“Brienne,” he said, his voice cracking. She looked up, saw the expression on his face—

And stood up as fast as her legs would allow.

“I…hope that helps a little. Forgive me, I…I’m not feeling well,” she said. Before he could get to his feet, she was gone. He watched her flee toward the elevators and didn’t chase after her. His heartrate slowed as he stood there, wondering what in the hell she’d just done to him, and what the hell he was going to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jaime and Brienne meet again, this time at Sansa's wedding. Jaime enjoys a lukewarm welcome from the Starks, Brienne endures their concern, and things between the two of them seem doomed to be awkward in the extreme.


	4. Sansa and Sandor I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Stark family wedding! Everyone gathers together at Winterfell to celebrate the union of Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane. Tyrion has volunteered both himself and Jaime as groomsmen, which is bad enough, but things get a little more awkward when he arrives to find Brienne already there. He hopes the gods are amused because he certainly isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the AMAZING response to the story in general and chapter 3 in particular! I'll be doing my best to catch up with comments. Hope you enjoy chapter 4!
> 
> This story has no beta and all mistakes are mine, especially the stupid ones.

Leaving Storm’s End after the Tyrell-Baratheon wedding had been a relief for Brienne. The ferry ride hadn’t been any better on the way back to Tarth but she’d been on her way home and would have endured any discomfort to get there quickly. After arriving at Evenstar Hall, she’d spent a few months in quiet solitude. She knew her father worried about her, but she wasn’t sure why this period of isolation was any different than previous ones. She had always been a loner. If sometimes she remembered the look in Jaime Lannister’s eyes when she’d tended to his wrist, and if that remembrance sometimes made all the muscles in her abdomen contract, that didn’t mean she was any worse off than she always had been before. That look, that moment between them…it didn’t have any real significance. Men like Jaime didn’t marry women like Brienne. Or date them. Or…anything, really. She was a non-entity. An occasional guest at the same parties, no more. And he was an ass. That was something she couldn’t afford to forget no matter how much she liked his emerald eyes.

Much as she loved the comfort and familiarity of Tarth, she had to admit she was getting restless. The island wasn’t large and it was the off-season for tourism so things were especially quiet. She was considering going back to the mainland and resuming her normal life instead of licking her wounds at her father’s house. She had just pulled up a list of airline tickets when, as if sensing Brienne’s wanderlust was at its peak despite their miles of separation and weeks of silence, Sansa called.

“Oh Brienne, I have the most exciting news,” she said when the call had been connected.

“Hello, Sansa.” Brienne smiled at the sound of the younger woman’s voice. If only Winterfell wasn’t so damn far, she might have been able to visit more often… “What’s your exciting news?”

“Sandor’s _proposed!_ ” The joy was evident in Sansa’s voice and Brienne smiled wider. She thought of Sandor. He was tall, gruff, burnt; but Sansa seemed to fluster him and he as always so awkwardly delicate with his beautiful young girlfriend. Brienne was glad he’d finally decided to pluck up the courage and propose.

“Oh, Sansa!” Brienne said. “That’s wonderful!”

She meant it too. Sansa’s first boyfriend, Ramsay Bolton, had snapped one day and nearly beaten her to death. Sandor had been hired by the girl’s family to guard their eldest daughter, and eventually he became the person she’d trusted most. He’d been there to chase away every nightmare. He was no stranger to trauma and it didn’t scare him, and a deep connection had been formed as Sansa recovered. Years passed and Sandor had been offered another job in the South which he’d accepted, but they’d never lost contact. Rumors had sprung up about his possible involvement when Bolton’s body had been found in the city Sandor had been working in, but they died away when the death was ruled an accident. Brienne hadn’t asked too many questions. She was only grateful that two people she liked and respected had found love. Besides, she might have killed Bolton herself, had she been given half an opportunity.

She pushed aside these darker musings and focused on the present.

“Do you know when the ceremony will be? I’d love to come congratulate you both in person.”

“Brienne, don’t be silly! Of course you can come. I was calling to ask you to be a bridesmaid.”

Brienne felt a strange pang—the words _always a bridesmaid_ drifted through her mind—but she smothered that traitorous reaction almost before she could complete the thought. “Of course I will,” she said aloud. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Great! I’ll get back to you when we have more details, but…try to keep some time in June free, alright?”

“I’ll make sure. Congratulations, Sansa! I’ll see you soon.”

 

\- - -

 

_ A Few Weeks Later _

Jaime tugged his tie off as soon as he stepped through his front door. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next and was just reaching for his bottle of whiskey when his cell phone rang. He had a feeling he knew who it was and a quick glance at the glowing screen confirmed his suspicions. He lifted the phone to his ear.

“Are you about to invite yourself over to drink all of my whiskey again?” he asked as he toed off his dress shoes.

“Even though you have shit taste in whiskey,” Tyrion replied, and Jaime could hear the grin in his brother’s voice, “I _am_ inviting myself over.”

Jaime walked to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the street, shoved aside the curtains and peered out. “Are you already here?”

Tyrion waved at him from the backseat of a sleek black luxury sedan. Before his brother could formally invite him in, he was climbing out of the car. Jaime gave him a wave and ended the call. A moment later Tyrion came through the front door, danced nimbly around the discarded dress shoes and joined Jaime in front of the liquor cabinet. When Jaime handed him a down a bottle and tumbler, he poured himself a generous measure of caramel-colored whiskey. Then he made his way over to the leather couch and clamored up with one hand, managing this maneuver without spilling a drop of his whiskey. He was an expert and that wasn’t an accident; he spent more time here than at his own house. He said it was because Jaime house was more comfortable with its leather furniture and modern, minimalist décor. Jaime had his doubts about the validity of that statement. He thought it was more likely that Tyrion hated to be alone. He’d had trouble with his long-term girlfriend, his best friend Bronn had recently moved out of a granny house at the bottom of Tyrion’s garden, and their family abused him. Jaime was the only shelter he had left, at least for the moment.

“I have news,” he said. Jaime sat across from his brother in an armchair.

“Good news?”

“The very best.” His younger brother smiled. “A wedding! You remember Sandor Clegane? He worked for father.”

“I remember. Big man. Didn’t care for dear old dad much.” He took a sip of his whiskey, wincing at the burn. The second sip went down easier.

“Who does?” Tyrion snorted. “Anyway, he’s getting married to Sansa Stark.”

“Well…I suppose I’ll send along my wishes for their future happiness.” Jaime wasn’t sure why Tyrion thought he’d care much about Sansa Stark’s wedding. Their fathers had some bad blood from years before and the families tended to avoid one another whenever possible.

“You’ll do more than that,” Tyrion told him. “We’re groomsmen.”

Jaime groaned out loud and set his whiskey down before he squeezed the glass to the point of shattering. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“You didn’t, sweet brother—I took the liberty of doing it for you. He asked me and I volunteered your services as well. You’ll be surprised by this, but he doesn’t have many friends.”

“Oh, I can assure you I’m completely stunned.” Jaime picked his glass back up and drained it in one long, searing swallow. He hissed once it was down and then narrowed his eyes at his sibling. “please tell me they’re not having the ceremony at—”

“Winterfell?” Tyrion grinned. His delight in Jaime’s discomfort verged on sadistic.  “Oh yes, where else? A June wedding in the untamed north. It should be just the getaway you need.”

“What I need,” Jaime replied, “is another drink.”

 

\- - -

 

Winterfell was cold in the summer. Not cold enough to snow, but Brienne was more than comfortable in her shearling coat. The mountains to the north of the Stark family estate (how much more north could there be, she wondered) were stunning at this time of year, and the air smelled clean and woodsy. There were still proper forests up here, not like the smaller patches of woodland that had survived mankind’s relentless march of progress. She found herself keen to explore the wilderness but that would have to come after the wedding. There was too much to be done beforehand. Sansa had fallen prey to the current DIY craze, and insisted on making her own centerpieces, bouquets and goody bags for the guests. She’d asked her family and bridal party to help. She’d sent links to helpful videos and Brienne had watched them dutifully, but she was nervous. She’d never excelled at arts and crafts and she hoped her fumbling fingers didn’t make a mess of Sansa’s decorations.

Then there would be a dry run of the ceremony in Winterfell’s sept and rehearsal dinner. The wedding was the next day, followed by a reception and a formal _bon voyage_ to the couple as they departed on their honeymoon. After all of that…well, perhaps then Brienne could get lost in the woods for a while.

She was just turning with great reluctance from the view of those magnificent mountains when a car pulled up the estate’s long driveway. A driver got out and opened the back door, revealing a small, familiar figure. Tyrion Lannister stepped down onto the pavement—and, she realized with a groan, he wasn’t alone. When the driver moved away to get luggage out of the boot, she spotted Jaime’s golden mane as he exited on the other side of the vehicle.

“I’m cursed,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ve somehow angered the gods and they’ve cursed me with a plague of lions.”

Tyrion spotted her and a wide smile spread across his face. Brienne smiled back: she might be cursed with an excess of Lannisters, but she truly liked Tyrion. He had sharp edges and could be cruel when backed into a corner, but he was also intelligent, kind and generous. He wanted to give the impression that he was wise and jaded enough to know how the world worked and how to take advantage of it. Maybe that was true to an extent. But there was also an empathy in him which he couldn’t completely suppress.

He made his way over to her, took her hand and kissed it with a flourish. “Brienne, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“I think your brother would phrase it a bit differently.” Brienne gave him a crooked smile. “I’m sure he thinks I’m an eyesore.”

“Then he should go to the optometrist. Are we to have the pleasure of your company for the duration of the wedding?”

“Yes, I’ve been pressed into service as a bridesmaid.” She allowed Tyrion to lead her toward the estate house. His eyes were gobbling up its exterior and she thought she remembered reading somewhere that he was passionate about history. That must include architectural history. “And you?”

“We’re with the groom. Clegane worked for my father as personal security. He went his own way a while ago but we were honored to be asked,” Tyrion replied.

“ _You_ were honored. I was coerced.” Jaime had joined them, carrying both men's overnight bags. “Hello, wench.”

Brienne managed not to roll her eyes. Barely. “Mr. Lannister.”

Tyrion watched their exchange with interest. The look in his eyes was entirely too knowing for Brienne’s peace of mind. “Surely he’s asked you to call him Jaime? He hates being called Mr. Lannister. It reminds him of our father.”

“He told me,” Brienne replied. Her tone was so innocent it caused Tyrion’s grin to bloom in full once more.

“It’s like that, is it?” he asked. Jaime was scowling as they stepped inside the house.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Brienne replied with a vapid smile. Tyrion laughed and reached out to give her hand a squeeze.

“I forgot just how much I like you, Brienne,” he told her. “Forgive me, but I think I’d better get Jaime to his room so he can sulk in solitude. I’m sure we’ll see each other at dinner.”

Brienne watched them head toward the study to greet their hosts, surprised when Jaime flashed her a quick glance over his shoulder. She turned her face away, her cheeks hot, and wondered what he could possibly wish to sulk about.

 _It’s none of your business,_ she reminded herself, but the look she’d just seen in his eyes stayed with her as she headed up to her own guest room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see some ideas I've pinned for this story on this Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/courtingdisaster/never-a-bride/
> 
> Next time: Brienne and Jaime are both interrogated, separately. Advice is offered (not all of it is *good* advice). Crafting is annoying. A walk in the woods goes really wrong.


	5. Sansa and Sandor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exit, pursued by a bear.
> 
> This chapter has no beta and all mistakes are my own.

“So.” Tyrion tossed his overnight bag onto his borrowed bed and turned shrewd eyes on Jaime. “What’s going on with you and our gentle giantess?”

Jaime lingered in the doorway of his brother’s guest room and wondered how much point there was in lying to the other man. Tyrion had always been able to see right through him. He sighed and stepped deeper into the room. It was decorated in greys and whites, and there were furs spread across the bottom of the large bed. He wondered if they were real. Tyrion allowed him to stall for a moment, his focus on removing his suit from a garment bag without getting stray wolf hairs on it. Once that task was completed, however, he threw his brother another penetrating look.

“Nothing is going on. She was… _thoughtful_ the last time I saw her.” Why did he feel like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar? And when had Tyrion perfected his ‘dad look?’

“Yes, she strikes me as an extremely thoughtful lady.” Those mismatched eyes narrowed even further. “Has she captured your attention, brother?” 

“Of course not,” Jaime snapped, aware he was protesting too much but not sure what to do about it.

“Then you’re even more foolish than I thought.” Tyrion had turned to study the massive bed dominating the room. He clicked his tongue in frustration: it was much taller than average, placed on a platform beneath a huge window. Jaime wondered if the giant furniture was the reason the Starks has chosen this room for his brother. Could it be their way of subtly thumbing their noses at his family while maintaining perfect standards of hospitality?

His younger sibling sighed and and turned back to him. “I’ve never seen you pay any woman but Cersei so much attention.”

“Don’t.” Jaime’s eyes went cold. “Don’t talk about that.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Just an observation. And you could do worse than Brienne, you know.”

“Exactly. You can’t believe she’d really want anything to do with someone like me.”

A sly grin slipped onto his brother’s face. “I knew you’d been thinking about the possibilities.”

“You’re impossible. I have not.”

“Whatever you say, brother.” Tyrion put his small suitcase on the oversized recliner in the corner of the room and began removing clothes from it and placing them in the dresser. “But if I were you, I’d practice my poker face.”

Jaime threw his hands in the air and exited the room before Tyrion drew any more ridiculous conclusions about his (imagined!) feelings for Brienne. He decided to hunt down a Stark and see if some sort of step could be provided for his brother’s comfort. He didn’t want to have to come lift him into bed and tuck him in every night, and if Tyrion found his own help it would likely be the sort that the Starks—as champions of high moral ground—would not approve of. He strode down the hallway, chuckling at the thought of Tyrion escorting a lady of negotiable affection to his room every night right under Ned Stark’s nose, but he stopped short just a few paces away from Tyrion’s door. Brienne had just climbed the stairs at the end of the hallway and was making her way along the corridor toward him.

His legs couldn’t seem to move. All he could do in face of her advance was stare, frozen and silent.

“Excuse me,” she said when she reached him. Somehow he unglued his feet from the stone floor long enough to shift out of her path. She stepped past him.

“Brienne—” he said, and froze again for a second when she looked back at him with those sapphire eyes. His tongue has forgotten its purpose entirely as he studied their depths.

“Yes, Mr Lannister?” Her tone was bland and polite. He forced moisture into his dry mouth.

“It’s good to see you again,” he managed. She just looked at him like she was waiting for something else, perhaps some sort of cutting punchline, and feeling suddenly ashamed, he dropped his gaze. At the same time, Brienne seemed to realize no cruel jape was coming—that he genuinely meant what he’d said—and a flush rushed to her face.

She mumbled something that might have been, “You too?” Then, still uncertain, she moved down the hall as fast as she could without breaking into a trot. Jaime stood there alone, cursing himself for a tongue-tied fool, and while he did so Tyrion leaned out of his doorway.

“Oh yes, I see now. I _was_ mistaken,” he said, his smug satisfaction belying the sincerity of his words. “It’s abundantly clear that there’s absolutely _nothing_ going on between you and Miss Tarth.”

“Shut up, Tyrion,” Jaime replied. He stomped into his guest room without another word. His brother could find his own damn bedroom step.

 

\- - -

 

The morning air was crisp and refreshing after a rather confused evening. Dinner had been strange to the verge of discomfort, what with the enmity between the Starks and Lannisters simmering beneath polite masks and civil words. Members of both families were ill at ease. Sandor seemed to find this both amusing and annoying, while Sansa did her best to be the perfect hostess. Brienne had noticed a fire in her eyes that had hinted at her impatience, but nothing distracted her from her goal of getting them all through the meal without anyone ruining the diplomatic atmosphere she’d worked so hard to create.

Brienne herself had kept catching Jaime’s gaze and looking away again as quickly as possible, and Tyrion was smirking so much his face must have been hurting by dessert. Margaery seemed to have caught onto whatever it was that had Tyrion looking so pleased with himself, and by the time the plates had been cleared away, Brienne had all but fled to her comfortable little guest room. She hadn’t slept well.

Sansa’s craft-a-thon was later in the day, which left her with a few hours to get out of the ancient estate house and into the woods. She was hoping a long walk would help her relax and she’d set out with long, eager strides for the trees. It didn’t take long for her to end up buried in a world of greens and browns and she felt instantly more like herself. A breeze whispered through the canopy above her and animals rushed away from the sounds of her boots crunching through the bracken on the trail. She caught sight of birds taking flight in a great burst and she smiled as their wings flashed toward the sky. Ancient trees leaned into each other over the dirt path she was following and Brienne fancied she could almost hear them: a deep, thrumming sound that set her soul at ease as it pulsed at the edge of her senses. This was a fairy-tale forest, the kind she’d always imagined when she’d heard the old stories during her childhood on Tarth. Enchanted, she let its charms draw her deeper and deeper through the trees.

After about an hour, Brienne paused in a clearing to check her phone (no signal, she noted with a sigh) and drink from her reusable water bottle. The day wasn’t hot by any stretch of the imagination, but the walk had brought sweat to her brow. She stood in dappled sunlight and breathed deep, trying to decide if she should turn back to Winterfell and get a shower in before joining Sansa and the rest of the bridal party. She was so busy trying to talk herself into being responsible that she didn’t notice the sounds right away. Something heavy was trundling through the brush, and a searching, snuffling sort of noise finally penetrated Brienne’s consciousness. Her head snapped up and she spotted it—much too late.

‘It’ turned out to be a she: a huge, russet-colored bear, followed by two darker brown cubs. Here in the north, with warmth and food in shorter supply, bears had a limited amount of time to fatten themselves up to survive the frequent snowstorms. This mother had obviously been teaching her offspring where the best spots for hunting and foraging were, and she hadn’t expected to find a human in her territory.

Brienne cursed herself for a fool just as the irate bear rose up on her back legs with a threatening roar. She backed up a pace, edging her way toward the forest trail that had brought her here. Before she could reach it, one of the bear cubs darted toward her out of curiosity.

“Stay back, please,” she told it, her voice strangled by fear. The cub paid her warning no mind, tumbling closer. With one more deafening roar, the mother bear dropped back onto four paws and charged.

Brienne ran for her life. She’d dodged into the bracken of the forest, missing the entrance d the trail by a dozen or so feet. She tried to veer to her left, hoping to find it again, but her primary concern was putting as much distance between her and the bear cubs as she could. The mother would chase her, but not too far: she wouldn’t leave two such young cubs unprotected for very long.

She pushed herself harder, straining to hear any sounds that would indicate pursuit. She was so intent on what might be behind her, she lost track of her footing and plunged over the side of a small, rocky gulf.

Jagged edges tore at her as she tumbled down its steep side. It wasn’t wide, but it was deep, and Brienne felt her ankle bend the wrong way as she landed at the bottom. Pain shot like lightning through her, bursting white behind her eyes and forcing a shocked cry from her. She lay still for a couple of long moments, catching her breath and trying to inventory her injuries. The bear seemed to have abandoned the chase, but now she’d have to climb out of this rocky cut on a bum ankle. The gulf seemed to have been carved out of the forest floor by a fast-moving stream that, at some point a few years ago, had either run dry or been diverted. The bottom was dry but uneven, though most of the stones down here were smooth at least.

Well, she couldn’t stay here all day. She could follow the dry stream bed out of the woods, but it didn’t appear to head toward Winterfell in either direction. She was confident that if she could climb out, she could find the trail she’d hiked in on, bu she needed to hurry: Sansa and the others would begin worrying soon, and one glance told her that her phone had been shattered by the fall badly enough to be useless even if she could have gotten a signal so deep in the forest.

Using Sansa’s worry for her as motivator, Brienne got to her feet. She went slow as she put weight on her legs. Sharp streaks of pain made her gasp, followed by a persistent ache in her right ankle. The climb, she knew, would be agony.

“All the more reason to get it over with,” she said out loud. She limped over to the small cliff, dried her hands as best she could on her pant legs, and began climbing. It was only around fifteen feet to the top. That meant she only had to climb about nine feet to get herself out of this mess—easy. Her ankle protested with each movement, but she was making good progress…until, just within reach of the top, loose rocks gave way beneath her right hand. Suddenly there was nothing stabilizing her entire right side, no way to regain a hold with her busted foot. She swung away from the cliff face, then back, and then there was nothing to do but try and slow her descent as she tumbled back down to the bottom of the ravine. She hit it going faster than she would have liked, and an awkward landing caused fresh agony to top through her.

She cried out, much louder this time, and sank to her butt. She wrapped her fingers around her ankle, ignoring the gashes in her hands. Her arms were also scraped, and her knees, but her heavy hiking boots had protected her feet. She’d smacked her head into a rock, and though she didn’t feel any blood, it would probably swell. So much for wedding pictures. A headache was already forming.

She sat very still for a couple of breaths, wrestling down the pain and reassessing her situation. There was no point in trying the climb again, so she’d have to pick a direction and limp along the stream bed until the ground leveled out and she could get off this stony path. Taking one last deep breath, Brienne hauled herself to her feet and gave another groan when she was upright. She’d have to find a stick sturdy and tall enough to lean on, but there was nothing in the immediate area.

 _Time to move, Brienne,_ she told herself.

“Hello?”

Her head jerked up. Someone was yelling. It was faint, but a second later there was another shout and she could tell the person was getting closer. Relief flooded through her.

“Help!” she yelled back. “Help!”

“I hear you!” He sounded relieved too. “Keep yelling, I’m following your voice!”

“Thank the gods you’re here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Just scraped up, mostly. My ankle’s hurt, either twisted or broken, it’s hard to say.”

“Okay. Have you got any way to stabilize it?”

“Not down here. I’m at the bottom of a little ravine. There will be branches up top, though. I can use one of them.” She hoped he’d hurry; she was getting tired of shouting. Then, almost as if in answer to her thoughts, she heard footsteps approach and she called, “Over here, careful of the edge!”

A moment later, a head appeared over the rim of the ravine. A familiar head. A too-handsome head. Jaime’s head.

“It’s you,” she said, stupidly.

“It is,” he agreed. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Can you get me out?” She asked, wishing anyone else had come to her rescue.

Jaime gauged the depth of the ravine, thought for a moment and shook his head. “Not this way,” he said. “I think it would be better if I climb down and help you walk along the riverbed there. The trees thin out that way—” he pointed roughly southeast—“and then we should be able to call Winterfell for help.”

“Not with my phone. It shattered when I fell,” she told him.

“Mine should do the trick.”

Brienne took a breath and nodded. “Okay. Just be careful. It would be bad if we both ended up injured the day before Sansa’s wedding.”

Jaime rolled his eyes and readied himself for the climb down. She watched him like a hawk, ready to call out help, but he didn’t need it. His movements were swift and sure and he was by her side within moments.

They didn’t speak much as he arranged himself on her right side, taking most of the weight off of her injured ankle. Jaime was too focused on making sure she was properly supported to speak much, and Brienne…

Well, her traitorous brain kept recalling the sight of him climbing down those rocks, finding hand or footholds almost instinctively. His shirt was a thick henley that didn’t manage to hide the smooth bunch and roll of all those delicious back muscles at work, and his ass looked as though it had been sculpted by the loving, masterful hands of an artist…

“How’s that?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. Brienne’s cheeks were instantly crimson. He was looking down at her swollen ankle, testing his grip on her, and she had been too busy mentally ogling him to help.

“Fine. I—that should work. How…uhm…how did you find me?”

“I was on a walk. Tyrion was being particularly annoying and I fancied some fresh air, lucky for you. I heard a shout like someone in pain and you know the rest.”

“I owe you my thanks,” she said.

“Never mind that. Let’s just get back before my brother—well.” Jaime’s cheeks went pink as he interrupted his own train of thought. “Let’s just get back.”

 

\- - -

 

Brienne was late for the crafting session with the rest of the bridal party, but no one seemed to mind once they’d heard about the predicament she’d been in. Catelyn Stark called for the family’s maester at once, and while they waited for him to make the drive from Winter Town, the entire bridal party (minus Sansa’s mother) gathered close around Brienne to hear the details of her adventure. She had never been comfortable being the center of attention at the best of times, but when she told them about the bear the outcry was enough to make her squirm with embarrassment.

“I wasn’t brave, I promise. I was so scared all I could think of to do was run, any of you would have done the same thing,” she tried to tell them. The women would hear none of it. She was proclaimed a paragon of courage by all of them, even Arya.

If Brienne had found that mortifying, it was nothing compared to the response she got when the ladies heard that none other than Jaime Lannister had been her dashing rescuer. Sighs of envy and admiration filled the room.

“Oh Brienne, how lucky…he’s so handsome!” said Jayne Poole.

“Did he carry you all the way back?” Margaery asked.

Brienne’s face scrunched up. “Of course not. I walked and he helped me—”

“The way he looks at you,” Jeyne added with a happy sigh, cutting off her very un-romantic recollection of events.

“I’m no fan of rich Southron men, but even I have to admit he’s easy on the eyes,” Lyanna Mormont agreed. Sansa burst out laughing at this, and the two Northerners shared a wicked grin that might have shocked Brienne if she hadn’t known either of them as well as she did.

“What’s so great about Jaime Lannister?” Arya asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “ _I_ want to hear more about the bear.”

After a few more minutes of intense interrogation, Sansa took pity on Brienne and changed the subject. Brienne sent her a grateful look and began gathering loose blooms into a bouquet. She was slower than the other women, but too distracted to notice. Almost all the women in the room were jealous of her; of how Jaime had come to rescue her, of how he’d wrapped an arm around her to help her hobble back to Winterfell, even of how he ( _allegedly_ ) looked at her.

She thought back to it, remembering his warmth and the clean spicy scent of him, which had been so different from the smells of the woods around them. Then there had been the weight and strength of his arm around her waist and the soft words. Gentle fingers tightening on her hip as they struggled over bigger rocks or branches in the path…

Alarmed by the speed and direction in which her thoughts were running, Brienne clamored to her feet. All of the other women turned to look at her.

“I—please excuse me,” she said, already limping toward the door. She needed to be alone, to get her head on straight. She couldn’t do this to herself again, couldn’t fall for _another_ impossible man…

“Brienne?” came a quiet voice from the direction of the room she’d just left. She turned and saw Catelyn Stark standing in the hallway, the concern in her eyes unmistakable. She looked miserable, Brienne thought.

“Yes, Lady Stark?”

“I just wanted to say…please be careful. Jaime is handsome but he’s not the man for you. He’s unkind. His family is a mess. He uses people, Brienne. All Lannisters do. Don’t let his charm get the better of you.”

Brienne wasn’t sure how to answer, but Sansa saved her from fumbling through a reply.

“Mum, Arya’s getting difficult, would you mind having a word with her?” she asked Catelyn. Her mother gave Brienne one more searching look, then disappeared back into the den where the bridal party had been crafting bouquets. Sansa walked toward her friend and took her hands.

“I’m not going to pretend that I’m not concerned about you. I know how badly Renly hurt you and Jaime is too handsome to ignore. But I trust your instincts, Brienne. If you do like him, then there’s something about him worthy of liking. He doesn’t deserve you, but that’s not my—nor is it my mother’s—decision to make. Just…try not to give away your heart too easily. He should have to earn it.”

“Thank you,” Brienne mumbled, mortified. Sansa gave her hands another squeeze and then freed her to flee for the safety and solitude of her room.

 

\- - -

 

Late that night, Tyrion found himself unable to sleep. This wasn’t unusual for him but sitting in his bed and hoping to fall back to sleep could be boring. He decided to do a little midnight exploring instead. There were some antique pieces in the Stark’s sitting room that he wanted to examine at his leisure. He found a jacket and slippers and made his way downstairs.

Jaime had beaten him there.

He was sitting in front of the large windows, staring at the high northern mountains. The moon was full and bright enough that Tyrion could read the expression on his brother’s face. It was a mix of emotions: worry, confusion and a touch of hope all wrapped up in fear.

“You’re up late,” he said as he walked to the middle of the room. Jaime looked over at him, unsurprised by his late-night wandering.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. Tyrion nodded, glancing out of the windows at the mountains Jaime had been studying so intently.

“Are you alright?”

Jaime’s answering grunt was soft and uncertain. “I’m not sure.” There was a pause, and then, “I think…no. I’m not. I’m…I’m coming to…”

Tyrion walked closer, coming to a stop next to Jaime’s chair. He said, “You’re coming to care for Brienne Tarth.”

Jaime groaned and covered his face with his good hand.

“Yes. And she hates me.”

“Hate and love are two edges of the same sword, brother. Don’t count yourself out yet.”

“It almost sounds like you want to help me.”

“You’re my brother, of course I’ll help you,” Tyrion replied. Then he grinned. “Can you imagine the look on Father’s face?” He ignored a second despairing groan from Jaime. “Just leave it to me—I’ve got tricks up my sleeve and time on my hands. We’ll win you your lady love yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Wedding photos are not fun when you've got a cast, and Brienne isn't looking forward to dancing either. Tyrion recruits help in his quest to help his brother find happiness. Jaime gives Brienne a gift.


	6. Sansa and Sandor III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is infuriated and infuriating, but he (or rather, Tyrion) gives good gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter went in a VERY different direction than I had planned. It is also even longer than chapter 5, and I still didn't fit everything into it. So it's a little different than the "next time" from last chapter indicated. I hope you enjoy it anyway!!
> 
> THANK YOU SO VERY VERY MUCH for all of your amazing comments, kudos and support.
> 
> As always, there is no beta and I'm too impatient to edit, so all mistakes are my own.

Though Brienne’s ankle wasn’t broken, Maester Luwin had wrapped it and ordered her to use crutches until it was healed. When she protested that she needed to walk down the aisle with a bouquet the following day, he relented somewhat: she could use a walking cast for the ceremony itself as long as she was careful. After that, it was back to the crutches for at least a couple of days. Then he’d left her to rest for the evening. Unlike her injuries, her phone was beyond help. She’d have to get a new one in Winter Town after the festivities.

When her alarm went off the next morning, she showered and then slowly maneuvered her aching body into her bridesmaid dress. Then there was a soft knock and Margaery let herself in. She had a cup of tea in one hand and a makeup bag tucked in the crook of her elbow. The tea was placed in front of Brienne as a kiss was brushed over her cheek.

“Thank you for helping, Margaery. I don’t want to completely ruin Sansa’s wedding photos,” Brienne said, taking a sip of tea with a grateful sigh.

“You couldn’t even if you dried, but I can help with that bump on your head a little,” Margaery replied. She moved around Brienne’s elevated leg and began spreading out makeup containers and hair styling tools. Brienne continued to sip her tea, for once meekly submitting herself to Margaery’s ministrations. The women sat in silence for a while as she got to work, but it couldn’t last forever. Margaery cleared her throat and looked up at Brienne through her eyelashes. Countless men had fallen under the spell of that exact look, but Brienne viewed it with wariness.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” she replied, “but better than I expected.”

“And how is your knight in shining armor?”

Brienne made a wry face. “I assume you mean Jaime?”

“Who else?” Her companion grinned. “We’re all trying to live vicariously through you; chased by a bear and rescued by one of the most handsome men in all the Seven Kingdoms? It’s the stuff of romance novels.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Brienne replied, avoiding Margaery’s penetrating gaze.

“You didn’t check on him? Visit his room last night to say thank you  in person?” Margaery sounded scandalized, as if this were some unbelievable breech of etiquette. Brienne only rolled her eyes.

“Of course I haven’t. It’s nine in the morning and I’ll see him in two hours when we all meet up for the ceremony.”

Margaery couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, Brienne, you have so much to learn about romance.”

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?”

“Darling, you wear your heart on your sleeve. But don’t worry—Jaime does too.”

Brienne snapped her mouth shut. She really wished everyone would focus on the actual, real-life romance of Sansa and Sandor’s wedding, and not the made-up one between her and Jaime. She decided right then and there that she was going to swear off weddings until all this speculation about her love-life blew over.

“If you really don’t want to talk about your rich, handsome admirer, we can talk about my love life. I’ve met someone very interesting. His name is Oberyn Martell…”

For the remainder of the pre-wedding primping session, Margaery explained how liberating and exciting it was to date someone like Oberyn. She was learning a lot about herself with his generous encouragement. Right around that point, the discussion started to get rather intimate. Brienne used this as an excuse to let her mind wander. And it wandered, of course, to Jaime. It always did, these days. For once she didn’t fight it. Why not daydream for a little while? That’s all it was, a small indulgence in a beautiful, impossible dream…

 

\- - -

 

Jaime hated tuxedoes. In his opinion, they had no redeeming qualities: they were damned uncomfortable and made the wearer resemble a penguin. It felt too much like a costume for him to ever feel completely at ease while wearing one. There were occasions, however, hen they were a necessary evil, and Sansa Stark’s wedding was one such event.

He stood in front of the floor mirror and fiddled with his bowtie while he thought of Brienne. Was she alright? He’d caught Maester Luwin on his way out of Winterfell the night before and learned that her injuries weren’t serious. That was a relief, but she was sure to be uncomfortable…

“Ready?” Tyrion asked from the doorway. Jaime met his gaze in the mirror. His brother was already dressed and didn’t seem to mind wearing a tux at all.

“Ready for what?” he asked. “It’s not time to head to the sept yet.”

“To visit Brienne and see how she’s feeling, of course. If you want to convince her you’re not a complete asshole, you need to start making thoughtful gestures.”

Jaime felt his heart leap. Just the thought of Brienne’s blue eyes made him nervous, a sensation which he had rarely experienced before.

“I’ll be seeing her in an hour anyway,” he protested. It was a feeble argument and Tyrion waved it away with a disdainful look on his face.

“No excuses, Jaime. Let’s go. I’m sure she’s dressed by now, and you two can have a moment before the day gets too busy.”

Jaime checked his reflection and smoothed his hair back one last time before following Tyrion out of his room, down the hallway and to Brienne’s door. The younger Lannister knocked and smiled to himself when he heard Margaery’s voice invite them in. Jaime wasn’t sure why Margaery being with Brienne would make Tyrion happy, but he was too distracted by his sudden case of nerves to give it much thought. Tyrion opened the door and all but shoved him through it, cutting off any plans of a last-minute escape.

“Good morning, ladies,” Tyrion said. “You’re both looking exceptionally lovely this morning.”

"Thank you, Tyrion.” Margaery’s eyes twinkled at him and Jaime thought again that something was going on behind the scenes. Then Brienne captured his full attention.

“Hello, Jaime,” she said. Her voice was a little husky and she looked shy and unsure. He felt himself smiling—completely unable to help it, in fact—at the sound of her calling him Jaime for the first time.

“Hello, Brienne,” he replied. He moved closer, shifting his gaze to her well-wrapped ankle. “How are you?”

Brienne’s chest, neck and face were all red with a fierce blush. “Fine. I’ll just have to be careful on it during the ceremony.”

Their eyes met again. Jaime’s mouth went dry and he said, “You’ll have me to lean on."

It sounded like a promise.

Brienne’s blush intensified and she couldn’t seem to find an answer. They continued to stare at each other, somehow communicating something beyond words. A sense of understanding flowed between them, and it was a source of comfort and stimulation to Jaime. He realized how badly it made him want to touch her. He kept his hands to himself somehow and moved to sit beside her instead, finally breaking their gaze to examine her other injuries.

“Your cuts look much better today.”

“Maester Luwin can work wonders,” Brienne replied.

“And your dress—”

“Sansa made it herself. She made all the bridesmaids’ dresses,” she explained. Hers was an extremely flattering sheath of sapphire taffeta. Moons and stars tumbled down the bodice from a sun-shaped brooch which held the fabric together on her left shoulder, embroidered in silver and gold. He recognized them as part of her House sigil and smiled.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t have accepted the compliment if he’d said _she_ was the beautiful one. He glanced up to see what Sansa had created for Margaery—and realized with a jolt that both she and Tyrion had disappeared, closing Brienne’s door behind them as they went. Brienne seemed to realize their new circumstance at exactly that same moment. She looked at him again, a little panicky, and Jaime tried in vain to find something clever to say. Nothing came to mind—it as laughable, how nervous being alone with her made him—and suddenly he _did_ laugh.

“They’re not subtle, are they?” he asked, still chuckling. Brienne flashed a pained smile.

“No. Margaery says the women are living vicariously through me.”

“Margaery Tyrell,” he told her with a wicked sparkle in his eyes, “doesn’t need to live vicariously through _anyone_ , if the rumors about her and Oberyn Martell are true.”

Brienne thought back to Margaery’s comments about Oberyn’s methods of education and found she couldn’t argue that point. Encouraged by their civil conversation so far, Jaime plowed ahead.

“I can’t believe you tried to fight a bear, wench.”

“I did _not_ try to fight a bear,” she protested, giving him an exasperated look. He laughed again, enjoying the fire that had flared to life in her remarkable eyes.

“Are you sure? That’s what everyone’s saying: that you fought off an angry bear with nothing but a stick. You’re Arya Stark’s hero.”

“That’s a complete fabrication. All I did was run myself right off of a cliff.” She touched the bump just above her right ear and even that delicate brush of fingers made her wince.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re more than capable of fighting off any ornery bears,” he joked, carried away by this new…something between them. He was therefore completely unprepared for Brienne to suddenly shut down. His smile slowly faded as he examined her flat, empty expression. “Brienne?”

“Why?” she asked him. He almost flinched at the razor-sharp edge in her tone of voice.

“Why what?” he replied, unsure of what he’d missed.

“Why do you think I could fight bears? Because I’m so big? Because I’m not womanly or delicate or pretty?” Her eyes wouldn’t release his, but there were dark and as cold as the mountains to the north. He drew back, stunned by her accusations and unsure how to extract his foot from his mouth.

‘No—Brienne, no. I only meant that you seem to be more than capable of tak—”

Brienne turned away. “You should go. I need to finish getting ready and we have to be at the sept soon.”

Jaime didn’t see what other choice he had. This unexpected disaster of a conversation made his heart seem to roll over in his chest and sink to his stomach, but he made it to his feet. He clenched his good hand at his side, and it was hard not to grab her by the shoulder and shake some sense into her, but she was right about this not being the time to finish the discussion. They did need to get to the sept, and perhaps a few minutes apart would give them both time to figure out what had gone wrong.

“I’ll see you there?” he asked, hoping she’d relent just a little. She refused to answer and Jaime stomped out of the room, feeling very much like the stupidest Lannister after all.

 

\- - -

 

There had been a few minutes, a few shining minutes, when Brienne had thought something had actually changed between she and Jaime. It was as if every birthday cake candle, falling star wish she’d ever made had come true all at once. She’d probably overreacted when it all came crashing down around her ears, but the humiliation of her mistake had left her bristling. Anger had been the only defense she had.

If only she could stop thinking about the way he’d said she could lean on him…

“You’re quiet,” Margaery said as she joined them in the small vestibule attached to the sept. The room was crammed with well-worn furniture and the walls were hung with lines of scripture from the Seven-Pointed Star. The walls were old, grey stone which a septon or novice had once tried to cheer up with a coat of soft yellow paint long ago.

Brienne forced such a fierce smile that Jeyne asked who had pissed her off so much, and at that her eyes filled with hot, disappointed tears.

“Don’t you dare,” Margaery said, alarmed. “Your eye makeup is perfect.” Then she squeezed Brienne’s arm. “Is it Jaime?”

Brienne hesitated, then nodded. She was afraid to speak. If she spoke, the whole story would spill out of her and she’d cry. Margaery was small but scary; she didn’t dare ruin her makeup.

“This again,” Arya muttered, rolling her eyes. Jeyne laughed at her.

“Just you wait until someone catches your eye. It won’t be annoying then,” she told the younger girl. Arya bit her lip, flushed a blotchy red and looked away. Brienne’s heart went out to her. Clearly someone _had_ caught Arya’s eye, someone she didn’t think she could—or maybe should—be with.

“It was nothing. I forgot…” Brienne almost said she’d forgotten who she was, what she looked like, but she caught herself. “I forgot how callous men can be.”

There were murmurs of sympathy and Brienne thanked them for their comfort. She also thanked the gods that there was no time for the women to pry further into the incident. Thinking back on it only brought Brienne shame. She’d have to apologize to Jaime for jumping down his throat, but it had been the wake up call she needed. She’d let her daydreams get out of hand.

Sansa and Catelyn joined the women in the vestibule, both flushed with high emotion and beautiful. The wedding dress was a beautiful construction of satin and lace, but there was no homage to the Stark’s direwolf sigil. Instead, the entire bodice seemed to be made of white-feathered wings which lovingly encased Sansa’s upper body. Brienne thought: _Sandor’s little bird,_ and smiled.

Margaery’s handmade dress was green, and golden rose vines climbed up the skirt toward the bodice, emphasizing the slit that allowed for glimpses of her pretty legs. The Stark direwolf made its appearance on Arya’s dress, howling across her high neckline. Jeyne Poole’s dress was a very soft grey with so many tiny blue-spotted shields that she appeared to be wearing a gown made of scales instead of silk. This ingenious inclusion of the women’s House sigils amazed Brienne and made her wish she were more creative herself.

“You look perfect,” she said to Sansa. The woman’s eyes glowed with joy.

“You made us look perfect, too,” Jeyne added, hugging her best friend. That was the signal for the rest of the women to press forward and kiss her cheeks. It was time: they all bid Sansa good luck with huge, excited smiles, and for a moment Brienne forgot her own heartache and celebrated her friend’s happiness. Then she followed the other women out of the vestibule to rendezvous with the groomsmen. She braced herself, then used her crutches to head around the corner of the sept toward the front of the church.

Jaime was waiting.

He was quiet as he stowed her crutches in the boot of the car that would take them to the reception venue. Then he offered his arm. His shoulders were stiff and there was a carefully blank expression on his face. He greet her beyond a small nod, didn’t call her wench or say her name in that distracting way he did.

Brienne took a deep breath and situated herself at his side. When they were close, she leaned into him a little and whispered, “I’m sorry. I overreacted earlier.”

Jaime jerked his head toward hers, searching her eyes. She got the impression that no one in his life ever apologized, at least not with any sincerity. A guilty pang went through her.

“I’ve got something to say to you,” he said. He was still staring at her hard enough to make her nervous.

“What is it?”

“Just that I refuse—absolutely _refuse_ —to sit around wondering where it all went wrong with us when clearly there was just some minor miscommunication. I don’t know what I said wrong and I hope one day you’ll explain so I don’t screw up again, but I’m not done with you yet, wench.”

Brienne tried to be rational and process his words, but her own brain seemed to be lagging behind. She didn’t have the chance to sort out a coherent reply before a crescendo of music cued them to action. His arm tightened around hers and he urged her into the sept and down the aisle, taking all the weight he could off of her right ankle.

What did he mean about not being done with her? When had he _started_ with her? She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she almost stumbled on her bad leg, but he was there to lend support. Then he was stepping away, joining the groom while she took her place beside the rest of the bridesmaids.

The septon began the wedding sermon, but different words rang through Brienne’s mind. _I’m not done with you yet, wench._ And he’d said he didn’t want to screw up with her in the future…but there was no ‘with her.’ They only ever saw one another at other people’s weddings; he didn’t know her and she didn’t know him. Not in the ways that mattered.

She kept her eyes veiled from his gaze, which had found her again and again as the septon droned on. She needed to think, and that was something she couldn’t seem to do when he was staring at her.

 

\- - -

 

By the time the septon officially declared Sandor and Sansa man and wife, Jaime was ready to drag Brienne out of the sept and finally sort things out between them. Or maybe he’d drag her out and kiss her. He’d always been better with actions than words. He managed to clap and smile as the newly married couple clasped hands and headed down the aisle toward the waiting limo. Unable to wait any longer than that, Jaime strode to Brienne’s side and offered his arm for support. She took it and finally, finally looked at him. She seemed to have come to some sort of decision while the ceremony had been conducted: the resulting determination in her eyes raised feelings of fear and admiration in him. When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head.

They climbed into their car and it sped away toward the reception venue. The ride was silent. Restlessness grew and grew inside Jaime until he felt like shouting, but Tyrion had told him not to act like an ass so he reminded himself to wait for her.

She took her crutches from the trunk and headed into the dance hall to rejoin the rest of the wedding guests. He stuck by her side, unwilling to leave until something had been settled between them. Sandor and Sansa arrived and a cheer went up, and he managed to drag his gaze from Brienne long enough to see how happy the couple looked. Sandor was still holding his bride’s hand with a tenderness Jaime had never guessed the other man possessed. And his beautiful lady was looking up at him as though he lifted the sun into the sky every morning. His throat burned with a sudden longing.-

The dancing began not long after, and Jaime took the opportunity. He took Brienne’s arm, set aside her crutches, and half-carried, half-pulled her onto the dancefloor.

“Say something,” he said to her, keeping his voice pitched low so they wouldn’t be overheard as they swayed back and forth in one spot.

Her eyes burned down into his. “You said you’re not done with me yet.” He nodded and she squared her shoulders. “And if I say I’m done with you?”

Something growled in the back of Jaime’s mind. He leveled a challenging gaze at her, trying to appear unruffled by her words.

“I don’t think you are,” he said with false confidence.

She didn’t back down from his challenge. “Don’t be so sure. Every time we’re together you find a way to remind me you don’t think I’m much to look at.”

Jaime’s eyes darkened. He was sure the couples swirling past them were able to hear his teeth grinding.

“I was drunk. I made a mistake.”

“Yes, you were drunk.”

“Well, contrary to poetic wisdom, truth is not found in the bottom of an empty glass.”

“It was the very first thing you said to me!”

“We both know I talk too much, usually without thinking, and—” he tightened his grasp on her hip with his left hand, wishing he could hold her with two—“ _I do not think you’re ugly._ ”

He was all but growling out loud now, angry with himself and wishing he could somehow convince her that he found her appealing. More than appealing. She interested him mentally _and_ physically, but her defenses were so damn high she’d never let him get to that part.

Brienne didn’t answer him. He sighed and stopped swaying with her, leaving them standing still on the dancefloor. They were so close he could feel the warmth of her. He didn’t step away, but he was starting to think Tyrion was wrong. Maybe he’d be better off just leaving her alone and getting on with his normal life. She didn’t like him and it was his own fault. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to avoid a man that had called her ugly immediately upon meeting her.

“Have it your way, then,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone from now on, but at least I tried.”

“Tried what, exactly? You haven’t even clarified what you want from me. An hour ago you told me you’re not done with me yet, and now you can’t wait to get away—so which is it?”

Brienne’s eyes seemed to be calling him to action, daring him to do something, and Jaime’s blood heated in answer. He leaned into her, got up nice and close and smelled the mango and sunshine scent of her. His whole body was responding to her proximity, to her passion, and he could feel arousal stirring deep in his belly. He looked directly into her eyes so there would be no mistaking him this time.

“I want you, Brienne. I want to get to know you, to date you, and yes—if you’d like to as well—I want to go to bed with you. I want these things because you’re strong and smart and I’m attracted to you.”

Brienne stared back at him, searching his gaze. She licked her lips and he nearly groaned with the need to kiss her. Then she opened her mouth and said, very clearly,

“No.”

 

\- - -

 

Jaime packed his bags quickly and without much care. He was in a foul temper and the chore of returning to Casterly Rock loomed before him, sure to be unpleasant. One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking of the bloody wench of bloody Tarth. He would go back home and distract himself with the family business until he was too damn old to be interested in anything other than a comfortable chair and good whiskey. Tyrion could carry on the family name, no one needed him to provide a litter of lion cubs. 

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He was in no mood for company, so he hurled a pillow at the door and continued stuffing his toiletries into his overnight bag. Despite the threat of rogue projectiles, Tyrion entered his guestroom. He had a small, rectangular box in his hands and his eyes were solemn and thoughtful as they studied Jaime’s back. 

“I take it things aren’t going well.”

Jaime emitted a bitter snort and jammed his towel into his bag as though it had personally offended him. “There are no things, Tyrion,” he replied. “I asked her out and she refused.”

Tyrion continued to watch him for a while, his silence not unwelcome. Jaime was done talking about it. All he wanted now was to nurse his wounded heart in private, preferably the width of a country away from Brienne.

“You’re very unpleasant when your pride is injured, brother,” Tyrion said at last.

“You think it’s my pride she hurt?” Jaime spun around to glare down at his younger sibling. Tyrion glared back at him, unintimidated.

“Yes. You’re bellowing like a wounded aurochs and pouting like a child. You’re not used to being told no and it shows. Did you ever think, for one moment, that claiming Brienne as your own—without consulting her—you might scare her? Did you ever stop to wonder if you’ve been sending mixed signals since the moment you two met?”

That made the elder Lannister pause. Tyrion pressed on, taking advantage of his uncharacteristic silence.

“Brienne isn’t used to being courted. And you are terrible at courting, it must be said. This little temper tantrum is probably all the reinforcement Brienne needs to convince herself she was right in protecting her heart.”

“So, oh omnipotent one, what’s there to be done about it?” Jaime asked. He was stiff and defensive, but listening: he must truly care for Brienne Tarth if he was willing to sit through this lecture.

Tyrion handed him a small box. “For one, stop ruining the chances Margaery and I are giving you. For another, you need to open yourself up to her If you show her you trust her enough to believe she won’t hurt you when you’re vulnerable, you may win some of that trust in return.”

Jaime opened his mouth, then closed it again. Was it really that simple? Yet he knew that telling Brienne certain truths about himself wouldn’t be simple at all. There didn’t seem to be any other way forward, if he was honest with himself.

“That,” Tyrion said, gesturing to the box Jaime now held, “is a new cell phone. You mentioned hers was broken. This is a way to keep a line of communication open. Just remember, brother: after talking comes listening. She needs to know you can do that, too.”

With that last piece of wisdom imparted, he turned on his heel and left. Jaime stood in the silence of his room, looking down at the cell phone as though it might be able to help. Then he gathered the tatters of his dignity and proceeded down the hall to Brienne’s guestroom.

When she saw it was him at the door her expression became guarded, but not before he caught a glimpse of curiosity in her eyes. Perhaps Tyrion was right after all and the situation could be salvaged. It was surprising to him how much he wanted that to be the case.

“I have a peace offering,” he said, holding out the box. “I’m sorry.”

The words tasted unfamiliar, but he was rewarded with a slight easing of Brienne’s severe expression.

“What’s this?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Something useful. Have a safe trip back to Tarth, Brienne.” He nodded to her and left before he could ruin the gesture of goodwill with too many words.

 

\- - -

 

Brienne was well on her way down the Kingsroad in her rental car when curiosity got the better of her and she pulled into a rest stop. She dug the box out of her purse and opened it. Nestled inside the plain box was a brand-new, top-of-the-line cell phone, and she sat back against the car seat, stunned by the generosity of the gift. She powered it on, admiring the screen resolution as it welcomed her to her new device. She skimmed through a few of its default apps, but then her fingers froze against the screen. Though she hadn’t connected the phone to her mobile plan yet, there was one number already programmed into her contacts.

Jaime’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: A short break from weddings, many phone calls and a thumb-numbing amount of texts. Brienne sees a different side of Jaime. Tyrion, Margaery and Sansa all fight to keep their loved ones on the path toward true love.


	7. The First Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery calls Brienne a coward which leads to some texting, Jaime gets some confidence back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter but hopefully is a fun read! Thank you for all the comments, kudos and support!!

The days after Sansa’s wedding coalesced into a week, and still Brienne didn’t know what to do with Jaime’s phone number. She sometimes found herself drafting text messages to him, but she always deleted them without sending. There was a vicious little voice in the back of her mind that loved to remind her that she’s already shut the door on anything between the pair of them, which was a truth she found painful.

Margaery had thought her mad, and perhaps she was. When her friend had called and asked what she’d been thinking, it had been difficult to scrape together a sensible answer.

“I’m a novelty to him, Marg,” she finally managed, tucked into an old quilt her mother had made. She was hoping its warmth would give her some comfort. “He’s beautiful, his family is beautiful, and all the people around him are beautiful. He sees my plain face and imagines there must be something different about me, but I’m just a normal woman.”

“You’re hardly that, Brienne,” Margaery had said. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid of losing my heart to him just in time to watch him grow bored with me.”

Margaery was quiet for a moment, and then she’d asked, “Don’t you think he deserves a chance to prove his interest is real?”

“I know the answer should be yes, but Marg…” Her voice had cracked and then faltered. Her few brushes with men had all left their scars, and Jaime already had more power over her than any of the others had ever had.

“Brienne, don’t take this the wrong way because I love you…but I think you’re being a coward.”

Brienne winced but didn’t argue. Margaery went on.

“It’s not like you to hide from the things that frighten you. If you don’t like Jaime then don’t text him, but what about the next guy? Or the one after that? You’ve got to take chances, sweetling. Old hurts don’t guarantee new ones.”

“That’s…”

“It’s impeccable advice. Besides, if you do go out with Jaime and he hurts you, there are quite a few people that will happy stand in line for a chance to kill him, or at least maim him. I’m third after Tyrion and Sansa, but there’s also Catelyn, Sandor, Arya…you get the picture.”

Brienne had smiled at last, ducking her face into her quilt and wishing she could hug her friend through the phone. “Thank you, Marg.”

“Good luck, sweetling.”

They had hung up and she had been full of resolve to text Jaime and take a chance…but she could not for the life of her figure out where to start. Everything she typed sounded stupid or anticlimactic or just downright silly. She wanted to text Sansa for help, as Sansa was better versed in romance than anyone else she knew, but she didn’t want to interrupt the bride on her honeymoon.

Finally, she typed a simple: ‘ _hello_ ,’ and she while she had hesitated between each letter of the word, she didn’t delete it. Her finger hovered over the send button. With one deep breath to fortify herself, she sent the message. Then she realized that while she had _his_ number, he didn’t have hers (unless someone else had given it to him, which wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility—not by a long shot—but if he didn’t have it he’d wonder who was messaging him…) and she was forced to add, ‘ _This is Brienne_ ’ in a second message.

She set her phone down. Picked it up. Thought about turning it off so that, if he texted her back, she wouldn’t be tempted to answer right away. She put the phone down again. She was overthinking this. A distraction was what she needed, to keep her mind from spinning itself in faster and faster circles. She decided to go for a run.

Twenty minutes later, she was still only partially dressed for exercise. She was sitting on her bed, staring at her phone, her good intensions all forgotten. At last, it buzzed.

_→sorry stuck in a meeting @work. Good to hear from u._

Brienne read the message and, with a growing sense of panic, realized she’d have to think of something to write to him all over again. A groan escaped her as her inexperience in this arena struck her full force.

_←what happened at the wedding…_

_→u don’t have to explain._

_←i’m afraid._

There was a long pause, and Brienne thought he wasn’t going to text her again. She stood, decided to go on her run after all, and strapped on her shoes. A tear hit the laces as she bent to tie them, and she cursed herself for crying over a situation she’d created. She forced herself to stop crying.

The phone buzzed again.

 _→afraid of me?_ he’d asked.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, _←yes._

The phone went quiet again. Brienne thought she was going to go mad if she stayed in her bedroom and waited for another text. She stood up, went into her tiny living room, and began stretching. Then she filled her water bottle and went back into her room for the towel she’d left on her bed. She wasn’t going to check her phone, she was just going to move the towel to the hook near the door so when she got back from her run it would be ready—

The screen was glowing. There was a fresh answer.

_→i don’t want to hurt you. i can’t promise i wont because im always screwing things up but ill try my best. tyrion told me i should be honest so ill tell you that im scared too._

_←of me???_

_→yeah u could pretty much crush me with ur thighs. might be a fun way to go tho_

She could feel how hot her cheeks were and she was very glad he couldn’t see her at the moment. _←careful or I’ll try it._

_→ur a merciless tease wench_

Suddenly she was grinning so wide that it hurt her face. She could picture him smiling too. The fear was still there, the need to protect herself from the kind of hurt she’d experienced before, but there was also an undeniable excitement in talking to a man like this. She was flirting! Brienne Tarth was flirting, and with Jaime Lannister of all people.

Her smile faded a little and she wrote: _←why are you afraid of me?_

There was another pause, much shorter than the previous ones. She wished she could see his face. He replied: _→ive never done this before. Theres only been one other person and that never had a future. This is new to me._

Then, before she could reply, he added: _→and a LOT of people have threatened me with bodily harm if i do something wrong. gelding, maiming (more maiming geez) or death._

Brienne laughed out loud. _←my friends love me_

_→smart friends._

She thanked all the gods for the second time that he wasn’t present to see her blush.

 _←they are_ , she wrote back, picturing his smile.

_→lucky lady! I only have my brother and hes pretty annoying im sure u’ve noticed. Hate to cut this short but i have to get on the road. talk later?_

_←that sounds good, drive safe!_

 

\- - -

_←so what comes next?_ Jaime asked, some hours later once he’d arrived back at home. He had shed his work clothes and was now in sweatpants and naught else. He had a tumbler of whiskey which had been almost forgotten as soon as he’d poured it. He’d been too anxious about Brienne to drink it. Now that he’d asked the question that had been on his mind for days, however, he remembered it and took a healthy gulp of the liquid. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he was afraid. The world of flirting and dating was alien to him and his brother’s stories over the years had made him think he’d rather like to keep it that way, but now he felt completely out of his depth.

His toes curled into his rug as he waited for an answer. Tyrion warned him that Brienne was likely to be cautious and he wanted to be willing to take things slowly. He knew that it wouldn’t be easy. Patience had never been one of his virtues, but he was determined not to scare her away again.

 _→I don’t know. Can we just try to be friends? for now?_ she replied.

He was torn between despair and hope, but he decided to err on the side of hope. ← _friends is good for now wench._

Then he smiled a wicked smile he knew would have made her blush and asked: _←do friends kiss?_

_→you know they don’t Jaime._

_←just a little kiss?_

_→you’re incorrigible_

_←someone has to be_ , he wrote back. His muscles relaxed a little. This was a good sign, more than he’d dared hope for after her outright refusal to date him just a week ago. He decided to let her off the hook a little, though he would have given much to see her red face and ears.

_←alright wench no kisses until u ask_

_→you think I will?_ was her reply. It flashed up on his screen so quickly that he laughed. She liked a challenge just like he did, but he had much less shame than she did so he was bound to come out the victor in this sort of _tête-à-tête_.

_←its inevitable_

_→are you sure tyrion is the annoying Lannister?_

_←pretty sure. Alright no kisses maybe ever. but allow me to live in hope wench!_

There was a pause and then she replied, _→everyone needs to have hope._

He smiled to himself. She was _definitely_ going to ask him to kiss her at some point, he’d bet Casterly Rock on it. Another message popped up on his screen: _→I better go, goodnight Jaime_

 _←goodnight Brienne_ , he wrote back. Then, once he’d carefully placed his whiskey and phone on the coffee table, he indulged in a little victory dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bronn meets and marries Jeyne Poole so the gang gets back together again in a hurry. Jaime and Brienne try to be friends and Jaime is--you guessed it--horrible at it.


	8. Jeyne and Bronn I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne meets Bronn and they decide to marry right away. Jaime comes to a new realization, this time about his brother instead of Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this up on my tumblr but I think this is a better place for it. I'm sorry for taking so long with this chapter. I was writing it by hand but never made it to the computer for long enough to get it typed up. The good news is, not only is this chapter finally done, chapter 9 is almost done as well! So there won't be another long gap between chapters.
> 
> Overall, I expect this fic to be about 15 or 16 chapters long. I'm also plotting out my next multichapter fic so I can get started on that one right away.
> 
> THANK YOU for all the love and thank you for your patience, can't wait to continue this story!!

Bronn knocked on Jaime’s door at an unreasonable hour of the night. While King’s Landing didn’t sleep, he certainly did, and a three a.m. social call was the kind of thing that made him particularly grumpy. He hauled himself out of bed, pulled on some sweatpants and a shirt and answered the door. A moment later, he was very pleased he’d taken a moment to dress because Bronn wasn’t alone on his doorstep. A lovely young woman was—very drunkenly—clinging to his friend’s side.

“Jaime,” she giggled. With a jolt of recognition, he saw that the woman was Jeyne Poole. “Brienne’s Jaime.”

Bronn snorted out a sort of clumsy chuckle and Jaime realized he was drunk as well. He sighed. “I suppose I’d better let you in,” he said.

“To-told you he’d be chivalrous,” Bronn said to Jeyne. “Reallll knight in shining armor type he is. Ser Jaime.” That seemed to really tickle his funny bone and he nearly toppled them both ass over tea kettle as he burst out laughing. Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten.

“Come on in,” he said.

“Good thing too cuz I don’t remember where I live. Do _you_ remem—remember, Ser Jaime?”

“We’ll worry about that in a few hours,” Jaime replied as the pair stumbled past him into the house. “Jeyne, you can take the guest room. Bronn, it’ll be the couch for you.”

And for Tyrion, who’d no doubt find this all highly amusing, a curt complaint about the sort of hours his best friend kept. It was no wonder Bronn Blackwater and his brother got on so well: they were both out to amuse themselves at the expense of everyone else. As annoying as it was, there was a bit of merit to this: Jaime wished he could dispense with everyone’s expectations of him just as easily.

He made up a bed of sorts on his couch, reminded Jeyne to lock the guest room door and made sure they both had water and painkillers for their inevitable hangovers. Then he went to bed, unaware that he had been in the presence of fast-blooming new love. Wedding bells were in his immediate future again, but he fell asleep still blissfully ignorant of this fact.

 

\- - -

 

As he’d predicted, Tyrion found Bronn’s late-night visit to be the source of a great deal of amusement. He’d hoped to get more sympathy from Brienne, but all he’d gotten in response to his grumpy text was a laughing emoji. _Wench_ , he thought with affection. Too much affection, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Not that he’d bothered to try.

“Jeyne Poole was with him? I heard rumors that she liked a bit of nightlife, but I never would have expected her to be in the kind of place Bronn frequents,” Tyrion said over the phone.

“And here I thought Sansa Stark kept such polite company. I couldn’t get her out of the guest bathroom for at least an hour,” Jaime told him. “And who are you hearing rumors about Jeyne Poole from?”

“Margaery, of course. Did your unexpected guests both remember their addresses, at least?”

“Jeyne remembered which hotel she’s staying at. Bronn is in my shower, trying to keep his liver where it belongs. He’s your friend, isn’t he? Shouldn’t he be your toilet he’s vomiting into?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tyrion replied with dignity. Jaime rolled his eyes as his brother added, “Just look at it this way, now Bronn owes you one.”

“How fortunate for me,” Jaime replied and hung up. A moment later, his phone vibrated. It was another text from Brienne.

→ _Jeyne’s in KL for a wedding planning convention. Sansa says she just got out of a relationship and wanted to rebound._

Jaime rolled his eyes and wrote back, ← _remind me to wash the sheets in the guest bedroom just in case she let bronn in after all.  
_

→ _was she a mess?_ Brienne asked.

← _i didn’t know such a small woman could contain so much vomit._

There was a pause and then he received another message from Brienne. → _thank you for taking care of her._

Suddenly the entire ordeal of the previous night seemed much less annoying. He smiled down at his phone and typed, “No problem.” He was surprised to realize he meant it.

 

\- - -

 

Jeyne and Sansa called Brienne two weeks later at a much more reasonable time of day, She had been distracted by her work, which was a delicate examination of a document from the early days of the original Targaryen Dysnasty. It was a record of a tourney at Harrenhall and Brienne was amused to see a few familiar names on the weathered parchment. According to the record, a Tyrell, several Lannisters, two  Tarlys and Baratheons and a mystery knight that had been revealed to be a Stark had all distinguished themselves in various events throughout the three-day celebration.

Brienne was an expert on the history of pre-modern warfare and tourney fighting. She taught at universities all over Westeros and even occasionally in Essos, but there wasn’t a high demand for her classes so she had started looking for a second job as a self-defense instructor as well. Today she was preparing for a lecture she’d be giving for a class at King’s Landing University the following week, and she was excited to explain how tourneys had evolved from purely melee-type battles to the highly regulated festivals they had been at the height of their popularity. In just a hundred years, tourneys had gone from a two-day free for all melee designed for young knights to practice capturing ransoms to several days of celebratory jousting, feasting, melee battles and swordplay exhibitions with strict rules and traditions like naming a queen of love and beauty… Brienne loved her job and often found herself being swept away into days long past when she was preparing her lectures.

Her attention was torn away from the illuminated list of tourney combatants when her cell phone rang. She snatched it up and was then forced to smother her slight disappointment when she realized it wasn’t Jaime.

“Hello Sansa,” she said as she answered the call. “How was your honeymoon?”

“Wonderful,” Sansa said with a happy sigh. “Sandor took care of everything. Dorne was so interesting! You should see some of the architecture—”

“Hi, Brienne!” Jeyne cut in. “I’m getting married!”

Brienne nearly dropped her phone. She heard Sansa tell her friend that she was just getting to that as she tried to absorb this news.

“I’m sorry, did you just say you’re getting _married_?”

“I met this amazing guy in King’s Landing and it was love at first sight for both of us. He’s so clever and strong, he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met…he’s brave and he took such great care of me…”

“Jeyne, are you talking about Bronn Blackwater?”

“You know him? Oh Brienne, isn’t he _amazing_?”

“I’ve never met him, but Jaime told me about him,” she replied. “When you say met him…are you talking about the same night you ended up in Jaime’s spare room?”

“I told her she’s being hasty,” Sansa started, but Jeyne began protesting before she could get very far.

“Why wait? When you know, you know,” she said and Brienne managed—somehow—not to groan out loud.

“Two weeks is—” She cut herself off. Jeyne was an adult and if Sansa couldn’t convince her this was a crazy plan than nothing she could say was likely to have much of an effect either.

“Well, congratulations Jeyne, that’s amazing,” she said instead.

“There’s one other thing: Tyrion offered to help us get a ceremony together on such short notice. He said it’s the least he can do for his best friend, isn’t that sweet? So we’re getting married a week from Saturday in King’s Landing. Can you make it?’

Brienne wanted to say no, but she was supposed to lecture at KLU on the Friday before the wedding. If Jeyne ever found out she’d been in King’s Landing and hadn’t attended, she’d be very upset. Brienne couldn’t bring herself to disappoint the girl, so she had no choice but to accept the invitation.

“Oh good! Would you be a bridesmaid?” Jeyne asked.

“Sure,” Brienne replied, trying not to sound as weary as she felt. She wasn’t even surprised at this point. “Just one question: did Tyrion suggest me when he offered to help with the wedding?”

“No, not at all. Tyrion said he and Jaime would stand with Bronn. Margaery was the one that suggested you to me.” Jeyne’s voice was bright. “She said it’s kind of a tradition to have you as a bridesmaid in our friend group. She called you true love’s good luck charm.”

“Did she, now.” Brienne shook her head in disbelief. Jaime was absolutely right: Margaery and Tyrion weren’t subtle at all. “Well, I’m happy to do it. I’ll see you next week,” she said. Both women chimed in with their goodbyes before Brienne hung up, covered her face and laughed.

 

\- - -

 

King’s Landing loomed over Brienne, capped with the ancient Red Keep. It was a museum now, but once it had been the beating heart of Westeros: the abode of kings and princes and a veritable nest of intrigue. The city was a strange mix of modern and ancient, with the architecture of eras bumping elbows in an awkward but beautiful coexistence. She always loved visiting. There were the boutiques and cafes, museums and nightclubs, the Great Sept and ancient city walls. The Great Sept had been rebuilt after a tragic explosion during a particularly tempestuous period of the city’s political history. It had been ruled an accident but there had been whispers that in reality it had been a preemptive attack against an increasingly militant religious faction intent on rebelling against the throne.

Apart from the history, which always captured Brienne’s imagination, there was the bustling feeling of the streets themselves. The excitement, the constant motion of it all was such a departure from life on Tarth. Living on a island was wonderful but there was something about the capitol that was seductive and vaguely repelling at the same time.

Tyrion had managed to arrange for a pretty little sept near a memorial park to host the Blackwater-Poole wedding. With his patronage and Jeyne’s connections in the wedding planning world, things had come together very quickly. Brienne’s bridesmaid dress, a deep pink number which didn’t suit her at all, had arrived on Tarth last week just after Jeyne had called her. Tyrion had sent her an email two days after that, suggesting a couple of nearby hotels.

“We’re looking forward to seeing you,” he’d written at the bottom. Brienne tried to ignore how pleased she was to read those words.

She arrived at the sept to meet with Jeyne, Bronn and the wedding party. It wasn’t a traditional rehearsal but she was glad to get a quick overview of the plan for the wedding day. Her heart pounded as she walked into the building. Her gaze swept through the room and locked immediately with Jaime’s. He smiled at her and her body physically reacted, tingling with awareness of him. She smiled back and then remembered her manners and rushed forward to greet Bronn and Jeyne. She kissed Jeyne’s flushed cheek and shook hands with Bronn. He was a bit rugged and he had an absolutely wicked sense of humor, but there was a ribbon of common sense under the quips which she doubted many people expected from him. She realized that she liked him right away and she could understand why he and the Lannister boys got on so well. At first glance he wouldn’t have been the man she would have picked for Jeyne, but after just a few moments of conversation she knew her friend would be in the hands of someone capable, protective and razor-sharp.

“Ah, so you’re the one,” Bronn said once she’d introduced herself.

“The one?” Brienne blinked.

“The one ol’ gimpy there can’t stop talking about,” he told her, jerking a thumb in Jaime’s direction. The term “ol’ gimpy” in reference to Jaime was so unexpected that Brienne had to clap her hand over a bark of laughter, and then she colored with embarrassment. It wasn’t a very gracious response to an unflattering nickname but it _had_ been funny, even Jaime could appreciate that.

“Is Bronn already teasing you, my lady?” Tyrion asked as he appeared beside her. Her gave her hand a gallant kiss before winking at her. “I _have_ heard from multiple sources that it’s very good fun.”

Brienne frowned down at him playfully. “Whose side are you on?”

“His own,” Jaime informed her as he joined the group. “Jeyne, are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Tyrion, Pod and Bronn are kind of a package deal.”

“I know,” Jeyne replied, giving her betrothed a starry-eyed look. Her words came out as a blissful sigh and Tyrion seemed to be working hard to control his mirth. Bronn only beamed at them and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. If anything, he seemed to be proud of having such a potent effect on Jeyne: her romantic sighing didn’t embarrass him in the least, and Brienne thought that was another point in his favor.

The septon interrupted their reunion a moment later and began to walk them all through the order of events for the next day’s ceremony. Jaime joined the groomsmen without saying anything else to Brienne, but she could feel his eyes following her. Heart tripping hard in her chest, she did her best to pay attention to the septon. Despite her best intentions, she didn’t hear a word.

 

\- - -

 

Tyrion’s phone vibrated on the coffee table again. Jaime was starting to have visions of chucking the damn thing off of his balcony. As much as the constant buzzing irritated him, he had a very strong feeling he knew the identity of the person that had been texting his younger sibling all day. If he was right, it would put a new weapon in his arsenal, and it was about time he had some ammunition to use against his brother. Tyrion had been so relentless in teasing him about Brienne that he was due for some comeuppance.

“Your phone is blowing up,” he called over his shoulder. Tyrion returned from Jaime’s kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea. He set them down and snatched up his phone, too intent on his new messages to notice Jaime’s smirk.

“Margaery again?” he asked. The too-innocent tone of voice he’d used finally caught Tyrion’s attention. He looked up at his elder brother with narrowed eyes.

“What are you insinuating, Jaime?” he asked.

Jaime shrugged, his nonchalant air destroyed by his mischievous grin. “Just that the two of you have grown very close over the past few months. It seems like she’s the sole recipient of all your correspondence these days.”

Tyrion made a face at him. “Yes, well—arranging matters in your favor as far as Brienne is concerned has kept us very busy.”

“Is that what it is?” Jaime replied, although it really wasn’t a question. Nothing about his countenance suggested he believed his brother for a moment.

“Yes. That's _exactly_ what it is.” Tyrion stared hard at his brother as if this look alone would drive home his point…but even he couldn’t stop the red flush that crept up his neck.

“Have it your way,” Jaime said with a laugh. Whether Tyrion was ready to admit to it or not, he had certainly been entangled by a pretty young rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn tries to help Brienne, forcing Jaime into a confession that will change things for good. It doesn't go the way he expects it to. Tyrion gets some of his own medicine.


	9. Jeyne and Bronn II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just this: THANK YOU

Brienne arrived at the sept in her silly pink dress, he cheeks almost the same color as the fabric. Jaime could tell she was uncomfortable, a thought which made him wish he could soothe the frown line that had appeared between her eyes. He had to settle for drawing close and saying quietly, “Sansa has much better taste in dresses.”

Brienne smiled a little even as she said, “Jaime!” in a chiding tone.

“I have a theory,” he continued, drawing her away from the others arriving for the wedding. She gave him a curious look, her cheeks still red—but now he hoped it was because of their intimate proximity rather than embarrassment about her clothing. “I think Tyrion is growing quite enamored with Margaery Tyrell.”

“Margaery?” Brienne stared at him for a moment, and he indulged himself in admiring her eyes. If there were gods, her eyes had surely been a gift bestowed by them. He fought the urge to touch her somehow, to take her hands or steal a soft kiss. She’d been very clear that they were friends; besides, he thought with a smile, she hadn’t asked him for one yet. He still believed she would. Being in on a secret together fostered a pleasing intimacy between them and he wasn’t going to squander the opportunity.

“They text all the time. He smiles a lot more now. He tells me about how clever she is. He isn’t only drinking alcohol: yesterday he made us _tea!_ ”

Brienne turned and glanced at her friend, looking thoughtful. “She talks about him too, and she’s glued to her phone whenever he isn’t around.”

Jaime made a satisfied noise. “She _is_ clever, if she likes Tyrion. He’s the best man I know.”

Now Brienne was searching his face, and she must have seen that he meant it because her expression softened into a warm smile. “He is a remarkable person,” she agreed.

Some unnameable emotion bloomed in Jaime’s chest at her words. Not everyone appreciated Tyrion, or even bothered to get to know him. The knowledge that she did added to his admiration for her. He knew he shouldn’t put her on a pedestal, but if Tyrion was the best man he knew, Brienne was certainly the best woman.

He smirked at her. “Should we…encourage things?”

She looked so horrified by the suggestion that he laughed.  “No!” she said. “I’d only ruin things between them if I tried.”

“I think you’re the only person in my life that isn’t a natural-born schemer, Brienne,” he told her. She looked as though she couldn’t tell if this was an insult or a compliment, and the urge to kiss her surged through him again. “Alright, I suppose I’ll let things be…but it would serve them right.”

Brienne shook her head but betrayed herself by laughing. Behind her, the car carrying Jeyne arrived, and that was their cue to take their places for the bride’s grand entrance. Jaime offered Brienne his arm with a courtly flourish that made her roll her eyes, but she accepted as they lined up to precede Jeyne down the aisle.

He found himself smiling the whole way to the alter—and then he spotted Catelyn Stark eyeing he and Brienne with cold grey-blue eyes and his levity vanished. Something about her expression warned him that there would be some fresh misery in his future. Especially if he wanted that future to contain one astonishing-eyed wench.

\- - -

The wedding ceremony seemed brief this time, perhaps because Bronn’s impatient glares urged the septon on faster than normal. Before long, he and Jeyne were kissing so vigorously at the alter that the guests broke out into (uncomfortable) laughter. Still, most of the assembled party were willing to indulge the happy couple, even if Bronn’s hand _had_ drifted firmly onto Jeyne’s butt in full view of them all. Then everyone escorted the bride and groom out to their car before separating to prepare for the reception. Brienne returned to her hotel and changed out of the pink monstrosity into a much more flattering blouse and skirt. She was in a hurry to rejoin the rest of the guests. She refused to indulge the idea that she was rushing to rejoin _Jaime,_ but she was. She knew she was. Her refusal to accept that fact was nothing but habit.

She arrived at the restaurant—one which resembled a charming Riverlands chateau with yellow walls, flowers in planters beneath white-shuttered windows and climbing ivy—and took a breath to try to calm her racing heart. It had gone into overdrive knowing that she was getting to see Jaime again so soon. Once she’d managed to get her pulse down to a reasonable speed, she exited her rental car and began striding toward the entrance to the eatery. Before she could reach the door, however, Catelyn Stark appeared.

“Brienne, we should talk.” There as deep concern in her eyes. Brienne found herself tensing in response to her stern demeanor. If something was bothering Catelyn, it was serious. Catelyn met her eyes, then smoothed down her grey dress as she searched for words. She looked hesitant to begin, which was unusual for her: she had always been a beacon of decisiveness and strength.

“I know things about Jaime Lannister that you should know before you…before you become too close. I was hoping he’d tell you himself, but it’s obvious now he has not. I suppose it was too much to expect of him.”

“How do you know he hasn’t told me what it is you’re about to?” Brienne asked. Her nerves were jangling.

“Because if he had, you wouldn’t be seeing him.”

Brienne wanted to point out the fact that she and Jaime weren’t seeing each other, but that was semantics. Whatever Catelyn thought their relationship was, she disapproved, and Brienne wanted to know why.

“I know this isn’t my place, but you need to know,” Catelyn said.

“I understand,” Brienne replied, though she wasn’t sure she did.

Catelyn drew her to a bench a few steps away from the restaurant’s front door. Inside, Brienne could see her friends smiling and laughing, celebrating the fast yet passionate love between Jeyne and Bronn. Catelyn was gathering her thoughts, her grim expression such a contrast to the joy just inside that Bienne’s existing anxiety ramped up another notch.

“Please,” she said at last, “just tell me.”

Catelyn looked down at her hands, still as lovely as those of a much younger woman. Then she met Brienne’s gaze.

“The Lannister twins have a…peculiar relationship. They’re much closer than normal siblings. It’s been a well-known fact for years that Jaime worships his sister. He’s claimed to be in love with her more than once. And there have been whispers…some people believe they share a sexual relationship.”

Brienne froze as she processed the words. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard this rumor…but both times the whispers of it had come from the mouths of the Starks. The first time it had been easier to dismiss as nothing more than cruel gossip spread among the children of a feuding family. But here, laid out in such bare language by a woman she respected very much, it was harder for her to rationalize the scurrilous talk away.

“I’m sure it’s all been exaggerated,” she began, but her words lacked strength. Catelyn shook her head, pity etched into every line of her elegant face.

“Why do you think he was so distraught at Cersei’s wedding?”

Cersei’s wedding. The night they’d met. He’d been very drunk and yes, distraught. It made a sick sort of sense if was because he had been reacting to the loss of a cherished lover rather than to a distasteful marriage for a beloved sister…

“I think,” came Jaime’s tight, cold voice from the direction of the restaurant’s door, “I can take it from here, Lady Stark.”

Both women jumped and spun around to look at him. There was a terrible fury in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at Brienne. It appeared as though the full force of his anger was aimed at Catelyn. Brienne didn’t think the fault rested solely with the Stark matriarch; she herself felt a deep shame for listening to gossip behind his back no matter how much she trusted the source.

Catelyn stood up with dignity. She met Jaime’s stare without flinching.

“She deserves to know,” she said. Jaime’s lips twisted into a snarl.

“She deserves to know the _truth_ , and she deserves to hear it from me,” he replied.

“And you would have told her? Because it seemed to me that you would have kept her in ignorance forever if you could have gotten away with it.”

It was Jaime who flinched. “Go away,” he said. “Take your poison with you.”

Catelyn leaned down and gave Brienne’s hand a squeeze, then she walked into the restaurant without a parting word for either of them. They stared at each other, his green eyes blazing down into hers for a small eternity. Then he moved to sit next to her. As he settled, she watched all of his anger drain away. It was replaced by something else, some mix of weariness, shame and regret.

“How much is true?” Brienne asked.

He looked down at his remaining hand—and his stump.

“I did love Cersei. It was a long time ago. She—it’s hard to explain, it’s so tied up to our family dynamic, which is extremely fucked. My mother died giving birth to Tyrion. My father as good as died that same day. Cersei…controlled me. She formed all my ideas and expectations of what relationships with women are like, of what I wanted in a woman. It gave her a lot of power over me, allowed her to mold me into someone that adored her and no one else. I would have done anything to prove my love for her. To prove I was worthy of her love. But she never loved me back. And—” his gaze pinned her down hard to the bench—“we were never lovers. I never touched her that way, nor she me. I think she was afraid that if she let me, I’d stop chasing after her.”

Brienne blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I lost my hand a few years ago and she stopped pretending to have any interest in my love for her after that. Then she met Robert. At first I thought she didn’t want me because I wasn’t whole, wasn’t her perfect mirror image. That she didn’t love me because I’d become ugly to her. But that wasn’t it at all. She stopped toying with me because my recovery took too much of my attention away from her. I was too wrapped up in misery and physical therapy to be mindlessly devoted to her, so she moved on and found new men to string along behind her, hoping to prove themselves as I had once hoped.”

He filled his lungs with air, almost as if it could cleanse him of a past that wouldn’t let him go. “Tyrion found me a good, discrete therapist. It took too long to break the spell she’d put on me, to recognize how much she’d manipulated my deepest self. Maybe I’ll never really be free of her. But I see what happened with clear eyes now. My love was…” His voice cracked, as if this was still hard for him to admit. “It was wrong. Bad. But trust me when I say that having Cersei in my life, in _any_ capacity, is the last thing I want now.”

Silence fell after that. Brienne sat trembling with cold even though the evening air was quite temperate. Jaime stayed by her side, but he was far away at the same time, still wrestling with demons she knew he’d always carry with him. It felt like something had shifted: like something had changed in a fundamental way she couldn’t describe. It felt like the end. She shied away from that thought. Rejected it.

“I trust you,” she said instead.

Jaime stared. For a long time.

“You believe me?” he asked, sounding broken and afraid to hope.

“Yes. I trust that you mean what you said about not wanting Cersei in your life anymore. I trust that you recognize how wrong that relationship was. How damaging.”

The joy she saw in his eyes was so pure it was as if she’d just opened the gates and let him out of some private, hellish prison for the first time in his life. The relief of it made him seem to glow, golden and whole at last, and a smile spread across his face in a slow, disbelieving way that made her heart ache for him. He looked like he wanted to jump up and shout with excitement. He looked like he wanted to dance and sing. He looked like he wanted to kiss her.

He took her hand instead.

“We’re still friends?” he asked her, looking deep into her eyes. The fear and uncertainty were creeping back into them now that the initial euphoria was ebbing. He was afraid she didn’t mean it, didn’t want him in her life anymore, and to be honest maybe he shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t bring herself to cut him out of her heart.

This was the point of no return. If she answered yes to his question, she had to mean it. She had to live with his confession and with his trauma. She couldn’t say they were friends if the things he had confided in her would eat away at her until their relationship rotted; that wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Yes, we’re still friends,” she replied. She could handle it, come what may.

If she’d thought Jaime had been joyful before, it was nothing compared to the lightness that was shining from him now. He couldn’t sit still, but he wouldn’t release her hand either. That left him with no option but to tap his feet and squeeze her fingers in excited delight. It made him hard to resist, or harder to resist if she was being honest, but she needed time. If he had truly loved his sister, then he’d suffered from significant trauma That was the sort of thing that couldn’t be cured, only treated and endured again and again. Forever. Accepting him meant that she had accepted that as well, for as long as they were in each other’s lives. She was willing to do so, but she had to adjust to their new reality.

Still, she thought as she looked into his relieved face, he’d already come such a long way.

“Thank you, Brienne,” he said. The smile was fading. He was now looking at her with deep tenderness. His thumb swept back and forth over the top of her hand as she gazed back at him. She didn’t say anything out loud, but her heart did respond.

 _Anything,_ it whispered. _Anything for you._

Oblivious of her inner monologue, he stood and tugged her to her feet as well, then led her inside. As they stepped through the restaurant’s front door, she realized that their hands were still linked tight.

Maybe he wasn’t oblivious to her heart’s whispers after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a short interlude between weddings. Brienne gets some annoying news.


	10. A Second Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets some annoying news.

Life went back to normal after Jayne and Bronn’s wedding. So normal, in fact, that Brienne nearly forgot about the second Winterfell nuptials.

The announcement had been on her refrigerator since the days before Cersei and Robert’s wedding. Months had passed between then and now, but the appointed day was fast approaching and it had snuck up so quickly that Brienne felt a little unprepared. Jon Snow was marrying Daenerys Targaryen in the godswood in Winterfell. It was going to be a Sevenmas wedding, full of the magic of the holiday. And, Brienne thought with a rueful smile, full of snow.

Once again, her services as a bridesmaid had been requested. This time, she was to be one of seven. There was no meddling involved this time: Daenerys had asked her long before Tyrion and Margaery had began to hatch romantic intrigues. And this time Jaime was not a groomsman.

_← but you’ve been invited?_ she asked him when he'd texted her about it.

_→ of course ive been invited_

_← there’s no “of course” about it. Jon’s family doesn’t like you and dany’s still on the fence about you too._

_→ Tyrion made sure i was on the guest list wench & even if i wasn’t id gatecrash just to see the looks on everyone’s faces_

_← you know, that could be one of the reasons why they don’t like you_

_→ excellent, i don’t like them either_

Brienne rolled her eyes. It seemed that the rift between the Stark and Lannister families would never heal, though Tyrion’s and Jon got on well enough.

_← well at least we can catch up @ the reception_

_→ good or else id die of boredom_

_← jaime_

_→ ill be good. ish._

She doubted it, but sent a smiley face.

\- - -

_→ i hear were 2gether 4 Jon’s wedding_

Brienne read the text message she’d gotten from Tormund again, hoping she’d somehow misinterpreted the combination of numbers and letters. But no, she’d read it right. Tormund North would be escorting her down the aisle to the heart tree at the Snow-Targaryen wedding.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Tormund. She thought he was loyal, good-hearted and funny. It was just that he’d never accepted or understood her refusal to date him. She was single and he wanted her: in his mind, these two facts added up to a happy relationship. Brienne has never been able to convince him that she didn’t think of him romantically. And now he seemed to think that since she was a bridesmaid and he a groomsman, they were dates for the wedding.

_← i guess ill see you there. Give Jon my best_

_→ i can pick u up from hotel where ru staying?_

_← don’t know yet but i rented a car so i won’t need a ride. Thx tho!_

_→ when u no txt me_

Not bloody likely, Brienne thought. She sighed as she wondered how she was going to finally make it clear to him that they would never date. One thing was for sure, though: Jaime was going to find her whole predicament very amusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jon and Dany are getting married, and it. is. fancy. Margaery wants what she thinks she can't have. Brienne deals with Tormund. Jaime runs out of patience.


	11. Jon and Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Sevenmas wedding worthy of a fairytale. Margaery is falling for the wrong Lannister (at least as far as her grandmother is concerned). Brienne doesn't know how to convince Tormund that they won't make giant warrior babies together, and Jaime runs out of patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to make Catelyn or Tormund into "bad guys" but Jaime doesn't really like either of them much, lol!!
> 
> Also, Grey Worm's name in this fic is Grey Torgo, which comes from his name in Valyrian: Torgo Nudho. Just thought it would fit the modern setting better.

Jaime didn’t find Brienne’s predicament amusing at all.

They had arrived in Winter Town on the same day. The wedding party had been invited to stay in Winterfell, but Brienne had opted to stay at a hotel with the wedding guests instead. At first Jaime had been pleased, then he’d become aware of the real reason: she was trying to keep some distance from Tormund North. From the moment he had met the red-haired giant, Jaime had felt more keen on bloodshed than laughter, and it took all of his meager patience to play nice.

“Oof,” Tormund said as he shook Jaime’s left hand, “you’re a pretty one, aren’t you? As gold as a nugget.”

Jaime smiled hard enough to hurt. “Thanks.”

“Brienne says you two are friends. I’m not sure I like her having such pretty friends.”

“Oh, I’m harmless. Just a lion with three paws.”

Tormund had laughed then, and Jaime vowed to himself that he would be anything _but_ harmless if it gave him a chance with Brienne. The lady herself had watched their introduction from the other side of the pub the group had gathered at. Her expression was wary, but Jaime only grinned at her and rolled his eyes in Tormund’s direction, and she smiled back in relief. Then Tormund caught sight of her.

“My giant!” he said, drawing looks from every person in the pub. “You know, my family’s name used to be Giantsbane—appropriate for you and me, don’t you think?”

Brienne was bright red as the pub patrons looked back and forth between them. She shook her head. Tormund leaned into Jaime and said, at the same excessive volume, “I’m going to marry that woman one day.”

Jaime forced another smile. It was all teeth.

“Perhaps you’ll have competition,” he said. He was proud of himself for keeping his voice even. Tormumd laughed, a huge sound that filled the room and drew all eyes to him again.

“Competition? From you—the three-legged lion? I don’t favor your odds, pretty boy.”

Jaime’s remaining hand clenched into a fist so tight that his forearm began to ache. It took every ounce of willpower he had to say, “We’ll just have to see,” before walking away.

He stepped out into the snowy night to cool off a bit. Watching Tormund hover around her for the duration of the wedding celebrations was going to be torture.

 _Friends_ , he reminded himself. It didn’t help his temper at all.

\- - -

Jon and Daenerys were all smiles as they joined their guests for a luncheon meant to welcome them all to Winterfell. The great hall had been dusted and repainted just for the event and featured several long tables ready to accommodate a meal for all their well-wishers. Brienne settled herself next to Margaery and Sansa, trying not to catch Tormund’s eye. She wondered if Catelyn had suggested him to Jon, but she dismissed that thought as unworthy a moment later. Tormund was one of Jon’s closest friends and they’d all been selected months ago She just wished the man was a little less…persistent.

“Someone certainly seems enamored with you,” Margaery commented. “He’s handsome. He’s got kind of a rugged lumberjack thing going on. It works for him.”

“Oh…” Brienne toyed with her utensils. “He’s very nice, but…”

“Say no more,” Sansa said with a laugh. “Any time a woman starts with, ‘he’s very nice but,’ the relationship is doomed.”

She was glowing with health and happiness, all rosy cheeks and bright eyes. She looked like a cat that had gotten the cream and every time she glanced at her husband, she melted a little in her chair. Margaery grinned as she watched, then she tapped her water glass against Brienne’s.

“May we all be so lucky,” she said. Brienne thought of Jaime’s ‘theory’ and grinned back. She glanced down the table at him, watched as he chatted with his brother for a moment, and then dropped her eyes to her plate.

 _Friends_ , she thought. But in the privacy of her mind, it was safe to admit that friends didn’t seem like enough anymore.

\- - -

The godswood was bright, cold and seemed to hum with a secret, ancient magic. Brienne breathed in the clean air and tugged up the collar of her coat. Jon had called the groomsmen to his side and Dany took charge of the bridesmaids, her fair cheeks flushed with the chill. She smiled at them all, more open than Brienne had ever seen her before.

“You can see this won’t be as structured as standing before an alter in the sept, but once you ladies have come down the aisle you’ll stand just here.” She gestured to a spot on the righthand side of the grove. Jon was giving similar instructions on his side. Because there would be no septon to officiate the event, Jon and Dany would guide the wedding themselves. They would speak the old words in front of the old gods, and standing in this ancient grove Brienne understood how powerful this simple, ancient rite of union would be. She had a feeling it would seem more binding than the earlier ceremonies, though she herself had never spent a lot of time practicing any faith.

“Shall we run through it?” Jon asked. Tormund crossed to Brienne and claimed her arm. He was smiling, happy for this chance to touch her, but the only thing Brienne felt was mild annoyance at his presumption. They fell in line with the six other couples and waited to walk solemnly toward the heart tree.

“You’re a healthy lass, aren’t you? Do you want kids?” Tormund asked.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Brienne replied. This was the truth. She’d always assumed that at some point she’d have a baby or two if she ever managed to get married, but beyond that she hadn’t dwelt on it much.

“Ah, a big lass like you, you’re made for it. We could have enough bairns to fill all the bedrooms in Winterfell.”

He said this as though they had some sort of long-established arrangement to wed and reproduce as though they alone were responsible for repopulating Westeros.

“Tormund,” she said, “I don’t believe that will ever happen.”

He looked down at her, serious for once. “If you give m a chance, I’ll win you over.”

“I don’t want you to, Tormund. I can’t be more clear than that.”

His expression hardened. “I won’t give up so easily, lass. Two hundred years ago I would have just carried you away, but I can be patient.”

“Then we can’t even be friends,” she replied. She pulled her arm free and left the godswood.

\- - -

“He said _what?_ ” Jaime snapped when Brienne told he and Tyrion the story that evening. She was swirling a glass of cider from the hotel bar, and they were seated in a little lounge near the lobby. She had a regretful look on her face, and Tyrion’s expression was troubled as well. He laid a soothing hand on Jaime’s arm. Then he tapped Brienne’s shoulder.

“I can speak with Jon,” he offered.

“No, I don’t want that. They’ve been planning this wedding for months. Tormund might harass me about falling in love with him, but he doesn’t mean to harm me. He just…doesn’t seem to think I mean what I say.”

“I’ll kill him,” Jaime muttered. She gave him a look of such disgruntled weariness that he stopped pacing and said, “I will. He…he’s too…he has no honor!”

Tyrion snorted into his beer at that. Still choking out a laugh, he turned to his brother and said, “Truly, Jaime? ‘He has no honor’?”

Jaime scowled, his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. “He doesn’t,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Brienne sighed. “I’m not worried about anything physical. I can take care of myself. And anyway, Tormund isn’t the type of man to just attack me. He _thinks_ we’re playing some flirtatious game, and I don’t know how to convince him that I’m serious.”

“You could break his fucking kneecaps. That would be hard to misinterpret,” Jaime growled. He received an impatient glare from her in response.

“One doesn’t always need to resort to violence, brother,” Tyrion said. He had a thoughtful look on his face, his fingers twisting his glass as he considered Brienne’s options.

“So what’s your grand advice?” his brother shot back.

“It’s simply this: continue to stand your ground, my lady—or else attach yourself romantically to someone else.” Tyrion smirked. “Conveniently enough, I think you already know who the best candidate for that option is.”

Jaime and Brienne locked eyes, but she flushed and looked away almost at once. His fingers twitched as he again found himself fighting the urge to touch her. His patience with this was wearing thin. She wanted him to hold her, he could see it in her eyes as plain as day. Why keep denying it? Then he remembered her pale face when he’d explained what his relationship with Cersei had actually been and realized exactly why she was pushing him away. He couldn’t push her or pester her like that giant red-bearded idiot, Tormund—not after that. He had to wait.

So he kept his hand at his side and smiled at her when she peeked his way again. He hoped she couldn’t see the frustration that was growing inside of him, howling like a caged animal.

“No?” Tyrion shrugged when Brienne didn’t leap at this chance. “A pity, it might have saved you a headache…but you know best.”

“I’m not so sure I do,” Brienne muttered under her breath.

“We don’t have to be dating for me to help, wench,” Jaime told her. “Say the word or give me a signal and I’ll swoop in and rescue you.” He gave her a savage grin. “Or I could teach that oaf a lesson?”

“I really can take care of myself,” she told him.

“I know,” he replied. “I know you can.” And they stared at each other for a long moment as his words sank in.

“You two are driving me to drink,” Tyrion muttered, and he ordered a double whiskey sour from the bartender to prove it.

\- - -

Dawn the next day came with small, dancing snowflakes falling from the sky. Brienne pulled on boots as she eyed the clouds, thinking they’d probably disappear by the time the pre-wedding brunch was over. She was right: even as she made her way from Winter Town to Winterfell, the snowflakes disappeared and gaps started appearing in the cloud cover. When she arrived, she was directed once more to the great hall. The long tables had been pressed into service again, and the were lined with beautiful crimson table cloths. Sevenmas candles, pine bows and flowers graced the table tops at even intervals, and golden dragons had been hand-embroidered onto the napkins at each place setting. Crystal glasses sparkled in the strengthening sunlight as Brienne stepped into the cavernous room, and her eyes lit up as she took it all in. It was lovely and festive, and Dany looked like a beautiful winter queen as she welcomed everyone to the meal. Jon was smiling more than Brienne had ever seen, revealing laugh lines that made his eyes crinkle. Brienne smiled back at them and took an open spot at the second table, next to Margaery again. Tormund made his way toward the empty chair on her right, but Jaime deftly slid into it before the other man reached them. She shot him a grateful look but turned to Margaery to speak.

“I think,” she said, “that you’re the one with an admirer today.” She cast a pointed look in Tyrion’s direction. He was a few seats down, positioned near Grey Torgo and his wife, Missandei, but he kept stealing glances in their direction. Margaery followed her gaze, spotted the younger Lannister, and smiled.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Tyrion’s always looking for love but I don’t think he’s all that interested in finding it,” she told Brienne. She took a sip of water then, but the crystal glass couldn’t hide the pink tinge in her cheeks.

“Are _you_ looking for love?” Brienne asked. Margaery’s answering smile was surprisingly jaded, one which didn’t touch her eyes. “I’m not even sure love exists. Not for me.”

Brienne sat back, startled by Margaery’s confession. Her friend had always seemed like the type that loved love. She had certainly taught herself about men, had enjoyed her casual relationships. Romance seemed to sit lightly on her delicate shoulders, to be enjoyed when things were going well, but never to be mourned when it had passed. It must have taken a far heavier toll than Brienne had realized. Margaery glanced over at her grandmother.

“She’d never approve, so my father won’t either. Jaime, they might consider. He’ll inherit, he’s been groomed to take over for Tywin and lead Lannister Corps into the future. But Tywin doesn’t like or respect Tyrion. He won’t give him any real responsibilities. And my family have…ambitions.”

“Margaery, you don’t have to fulfil those ambitions,” Brienne said.

“Don’t I?” Margaery asked as she looked at Tyrion again. Her gaze lingered and Tyrion smiled when he noticed, lifting his glass to her in toast. Her lips curved up in a real smile then, and she toasted him in return. Brienne opened her mouth to argue further but a warm hand closed over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. She turned and met Jaime’s gaze. He shook his head a little.

“We’ll have more luck with my brother,” he said softly. “Let’s leave it there for now.”

Brienne hesitated, then nodded. Jaime gave her fingers one last squeeze before servers began bringing in another course on silver trays.

 _Love exists_ , she thought as she studied Jaime’s perfect face. _It exists and we must fight for it._

\- - -

After the brunch, Jaime was prepared for a full-blown society wedding. He’d grown up in all the right circles and apart from the now-infamous saying about Lannisters and their debts, the family was also well-known for the spectacles they could provide in the form of fashionable soirees. Weddings, charity dinners, funerals, university graduations, hostile business take-overs: you name it and the Lannisters had celebrated it to its gilded gills.

Even with that lifetime of preparation, he was still taken aback by the ceremony in the godswood that afternoon. For once, he didn’t have to stand with the groom, so he was at leisure to take in the details. There were many rows of benches lined the cloth of gold aisle, and tiny embroidered wolves and dragons chased each other along the edges of this expensive carpet. The benches themselves were carved of weirwood, and there was more gilding on the headrests and armrests while prancing heraldic animals formed carved tableaus on the backs. Flowers were everywhere, summer blooms bursting from pots places all over the godswood. They would die quickly in the winter-like cold of Sevenmas in the north, so it seemed a bit pointless to him. Still, the effect was stunning. Cloth of gold and silver ribbons were wrapped around every tree in the grove except the heart tree, and scented oil had been added to the bubbling hot springs nearby. A band had been hired to play live music and he recognized the superior quality of the instruments and their players.

All this, to say a few words in front of a tree. It wouldn’t even be binding until both Jon and Daenerys had signed the marriage contract. _Well_ , he thought, _to each their own_.

That wasn’t the end of the show however, because a moment later large open sleds containing the wedding party began to arrive. These too had been gilded (he was starting to hope it was all just gold paint) and were drawn by matched white horses that looked well-bred enough to race rather than to act as beasts of burden. If this was all down to Daenerys’ vision, it was impressive—and a bit too flash even for his taste. Yet the girl had the money. The Targaryen royal family may have been abolished by parliament years ago, but they had previously amassed a private fortune containing more money than anyone could spend in a hundred lifetimes. It had all come to Daenerys following the death of her older brother.

One by one, the bridal party climbed down from the horse-drawn sledges. Robb and his wife Talisa came first, followed by Sandor and Sansa. Behind them were Arya and Gendry, then Bran was wheeled down the cloth of gold aisle by Lyanna Mormont. Missandei and Grey passed by the guests next, smiling with joy. Tyrion looked like he was the luckiest man alive as he escorted Margaery down the aisle, and Jaime grinned at him and winked.

Finally, Brienne and Tormund began to walk toward the heart tree. Her eyes searched the crowd for him, then locked onto his. He gave her a wistful little grin and a shrug, hoping she understood that he wished he was the one walking beside her. Happy as Tormund looked to be with her, Jaime wasn’t selfless enough to let him have his moment. Brienne wanted him, Jaime, and that made her his for as long as she wanted to be. No ‘may the best man win’—hell no. He wasn’t the better man but he’d be damned if he didn’t want to win anyway.

The music changed as Tormund and Brienne took their places. A final carriage arrived, and Daenerys descended to the ground like some goddess of ice and fire. She joined Jon at the heart tree, trailed by a long train that resembled frozen flames sewn in white silk. Jon took her hands and they spoke the old words. They literally tied themselves together, bound wrist to wrist with a silken cord, and then the ceremony was done.

Jaime was startled at how quickly the formalities had been completed. Suddenly he realized he was hungry for this: he wanted to stand up with Brienne and pledge himself to be hers forever in front of the whole world. Forget kisses or dates, he wanted it all: he wanted a life with her in a primal, instinctive way that went deeper than reason or common sense.

Gods, he needed to get a hold of himself. He didn’t even know where this need had come from. Their friendship had only just survived the sort of trial by fire that should have had her running from him, screaming. One didn’t go from that to the wedding alter so quickly, or at all.

Jaime always loved deep and fast. That had been his problem—well, one of his problems. He jumped in feet first without bothering to think. It had cost him everything the last time, it had scarred him for life. Feeling as though one woman was it, was his soulmate, should have terrified him after what he’d experienced.

But with Brienne, it was right.

He didn’t know how else to describe it. Everything inside of him knew that they were supposed to be more to each other. It was as though her name had been carved deep into his soul, hidden from him until now. She couldn’t redeem him, save him or complete him, but she would give him the courage to do those things for himself. She would lend him her strength. If the gods had created one person for another, he was certain they had created Brienne for him. It was a better deal for him than for her, but his brother had always said that Lannisters took what was offered.

All of this struck him with the force of a physical blow. He sat back in his seat and tried to gain control over the possessive roaring in his heart. Then he looked up, saw Tormund take Brienne’s arm, and shot out of his chair.

Enough was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jaime gets Brienne alone because they definitely have some things to work out. Margaery and Tyrion also need to have a chat.


	12. Jon and Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne get promoted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support I’ve gotten, especially from that last chapter, has been amazing and inspriational!! Thank you all for your encouragement, it kept me excited and spurred on my writing.
> 
> I think you'll enjoy this one!!

Jaime reached Brienne and Tormund just as they were about to climb back into one of those _stupid_ carriages. Tormund was trying to convince her to share one of the blankets waiting on the seat with him and she—glorious woman—was refusing. Before she could pull herself up into the conveyance, Jaime touched her arm.

“Don’t go with him,” he said.

Brienne twisted to look at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “But we have to go for pictures and then the reception…”

He shook his head. “Come with me instead.”

Tormund was growing red as he looked back and forth between the pair. He turned to glare at Jaime. “What’s this then?” he asked.

Jaime ignored him. Fear was starting to press in around the edges of his reckless burst of courage. If she stayed, did that mean she’d changed her mind about Tormund and his dubious charms? The moment stretched out, but at last Brienne nodded, possibly reading the desperation in his eyes. She stepped down and away from the carriage, setting Jaime’s heart free as she moved toward him. Tormund was watching closely, and all at once his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Take the carriage,” he said to Brienne. “I’ll take my car and explain to the newlyweds. Maybe you’ll share your blanket with _him_.” He jerked his thumb at Jaime, who had turned to stare at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected the giant to acquiesce so quickly. Then he shook of his surprise, climbed into the carriage and held out his hand to Brienne to help her up after him.

“Thank you,” he said to Tormund. The other man gave Brienne a lingering, disappointed look but kept his word and turned to walk toward his car. The carriage driver flicked his reins and the white horses began trotting way from the godswood.

“What’s going on?” Brienne asked, her eyes studying him. Jaime turned toward her on the carriage’s padded bench.

“Kiss me, wench.”

Whatever Brienne had been expecting, this was not it. “What?” she asked, completely thrown by the request.

“I’m asking you to kiss me,” he repeated. He had never expected to be the one to ask her for a kiss, but he was led by his instincts—instincts which were again telling him this was right, this was the correct path for them both.

“I’m aching for you, Brienne,” he continued, willing her to believe him. “You want me too, I think. Stop fighting it and kiss me.”

Their surroundings were beautiful, even perfect for a foray into romance: a snowy wood capped by mountains made pink in the rays of a setting sun. A horse-drawn carriage with thick blankets and a presumably discreet driver. Another time he would have enjoyed the natural scenery, but at the moment he could see nothing but Brienne’s ocean-deep eyes. Nothing could be as astonishing, as beautiful to him as those sapphire eyes.

“Please,” he started to say, but he’d barely begun to form the word—so unfamiliar to him—when Brienne crashed into his chest and kissed him.

His left hand immediately came up to her head, cupping it as he anchored her against him with his right arm. He used his hold on her to deepen the kiss, taking it from a desperate clash of mouths to something softer: a dance of lips which both soothed and fanned the flames in his soul.

His tongue brushed lightly against her lower lip and Brienne opened herself to him. Her fingers had fisted into his suit lapels, but her grip now relaxed and her arms found their way around his neck. Was that his racing heartbeat, or hers? He didn’t care. He was lost in her sweetness. The only thing he could coherently think was, _finally!_

Eventually he pulled away a mere inch to breathe. Then he stole one, two more soft kisses from her swollen lips, unable to help himself. He was shaken by the power of it, of them together, but it wasn’t a power she has _over_ him: it was something they shared.

“You know I hate to admit it, but Tyrion is right. We should be together.”

Brienne’s breath trembled out from her well-kissed mouth. Her cheeks were red and he all he wanted in that moment is to kiss her again, but he was also desperate to hear her speak.

“You don’t think it’s too fast?” she asked.

He laughed at that, breathless with joy. He was finally, finally wearing down her defensive walls. “Not at all, wench. This is definitely overdue.”

She bit her lower lip and suddenly Jaime’s laughter died, burned away by the desire to nip and suck the same spot. The thought heated his blood so much that he doubted he’d need the blanket despite cold of the snowy landscape they were passing through.

“And what happens when you get bored?” she asked. He’d never heard her sound afraid before. He stared at her hard, holding her tighter in his arms.

“That won’t happen, Brienne. Not in this lifetime—not in twenty.”

“How do you know? The novelty of dating an ugly woman will wear off at some point.”

“I just know.” He knew it would be impossible to try and explain how she’s been written into his heart, that he will spend his life working to be a worthy partner for her. She’d been hurt, and only time would convince her that he could be trusted with her heart. He just needed to make sure she’d give him that time. “And I’ll be the judge of whether or not I find you ugly, shall I?”

When she didn’t speak, he forced her to look into his eyes. “Don’t you understand, wench? I’m falling for you. I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Brienne watched him for several silent moments, looking for any signs of doubt from him. Maybe she was even looking for mockery. There was none to find, but the fact that someone had turned her love into a joke sent a bolt of fury through him. She’d never get such treatment from him: nothing was more natural or certain than his feelings for her.

All at once, while he was thinking these things, her features hardened. He could see her gathering her strength and courage. She had come to some sort of decision, he can tell by the set of her shoulders. Any hint of her previous uncertainty was banished and he felt frozen to the carriage seat as he waited to find out what path she’d just chosen.

“I want this,” she told him.

He might have wept. He might have cheered.

He kissed her instead.

\- - -

When the carriage arrived in Winter Town, Brienne was immediately aware that their eagle-eyed friends would be able to spot the fact that she and Jaime had been kissing nearly the whole way to the reception. Sure enough, Tyrion took one look in their direction and looked so smug that Brienne felt her cheeks burst into flames. Margaery followed his gaze to the pair and actually _clapped_ with delight.

“Finally!” she said as Brienne and Jaime made their way over.

“You didn’t kill Tormund, did you? That would be hard to explain to Jon,” Tyrion added. Brienne could tell that their friends were just getting warmed up as far as future teasing went, but before any more could be said, she latched onto Tyrion’s arm and pulled him away.

“Jaime! Where is your wen—lady—taking me?”

Jaime only smirked at his brother and waved as Brienne pulled him around the corner of the building. When they were alone and out of earshot (with Tyrion complaining about how useless his brother was the whole way), she turned determined blue eyes on him. He put his hands up defensively, unsure of what had inspired her to haul him away from everyone else.

“You are in love with Margaery,” she said. There was no room for argument or doubt: she presented this statement as an indisputable fact. Tyrion dropped his hands and eyed her, wondering how much he should admit to.

“And if I am?” he replied.

“Do something about it.”

“ _Do something about it?_ ” Tyrion’s laugh was bitter. “Excellent advice. What, precisely, should I do? The lady herself has made it clear that a relationship is impossible. You yourself know how tedious a persistent man can be when he decides not to listen, or have Jaime’s kisses completely erased Tormund from your memory?”

Brienne ignored the acid in his tone. “The main difference being that Margaery loves you too, but her family doesn’t approve. I never loved Tormund and I think with time he would have realized he didn’t love me either.”

Tyrion’s face was like thunder. “I admit you have me there. However, I fail to see what I can do about her family.”

“You could take a page out of Jaime’s book,” she suggested.

“Which page would that be?”

“You could do as you please and damn anyone who bothers to argue.” Brienne glared at him. “You’re not truly afraid of their disapproval.”

“I’m not, no,” Tyrion agreed, “but Margaery loves them, and she is.”

“The two of you will convince them. If anyone’s a power couple, it’s you two. You’ll win them over—or you won’t. Who cares? Isn’t being together more important than that?”

Tyrion grinned up at her. “That’s horrible advice, you know,” he said, approvingly.

She shrugged. “I know.”

“I love bad advice. I thrive on it.”

“So you’re going to do something about Margaery?”

“We’ll see.” Tyrion’s grin turned wicked. “You know, I think Jaime’s already rubbing off on you.” 

Then, before she could respond, he disappeared around the corner on his way back to the wedding party—and Margaery.

 - - -

During the celebratory supper, Jaime had to sit a table away from Brienne, watching as she chatted with Tormund when all he wanted was to get her alone and kiss her some more. Tormund had glanced back and forth between them when he’d arrived, and when Brienne had nodded, he’d heaved a huge sigh but congratulated Jaime.

“Harmless lion, indeed,” he said, but he and Jaime shook hands. Jaime had the strangest feeling that they were now friends, or at least on friendly terms.

The reception supper was as gorgeous and over-the-top as the wedding itself had been. Dish after dish was offered to the guests, everything cooked to perfection. Everything from lemon cakes to roasted aurochs was available, but when Jaime ate he didn’t taste any of it. His mind was absorbed with thoughts—hopes—of his future with Brienne.

The only thing that pulled his attention away from his thoughts was the sight of Tyrion and Margaery. His brother seemed…tender. He laughed with his lady, made sure she was served before himself. His hand brushed hers at every available opportunity, and Margaery went out of her way to touch him as well. She was happy, but her gaze kept flickering over to her grandmother’s table every few moments.

Brienne had spoken to Jaime about Margaery’s fears. Tyrion didn’t seem too perturbed; even under Olenna’s watchful gaze, he continued to flirt outrageously. If the Tyrell matriarch disapproved, it was ignored with aplomb.

The tables were cleared, and Jon and Daenerys led them all into the next room, which featured a large dance floor and more gilded decorations. Jaime leapt at the chance: he made his way to Brienne’s side, took her hand and drew her to the dance floor.

“I missed you during dinner, wench,” he said into her ear. She laughed.

“We’ve been apart longer.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, holding her tighter. He spun her around, showing off his excellent dancing a little, but mostly just enjoying being so close to Brienne. Tyrion and Margaery swept by; he was a better dancer than Jaime and led effortlessly despite being shorter than Margaery. Then Arya and Gendry began bickering in the center of the dance floor as Jon looked on and laughed and Sansa covered her face with both hands in despair.

Jaime tugged Brienne out of the room and into the night during this moment of distraction. They were on a deck behind the building. The night was clear and stars gleamed above them, while closer to earth strands of fairy lights had been wrapped around the latticework covering the deck. There were several tall potted shrubs which suited Jaime’s purposes just fine. He chose one, backed Brienne toward its sheltering wall, and began kissing her slow and deep. He could feel her trying to hold back, but after only a moment she was kissing him back just as passionately as he was her, clinging to his back with her large hands.

“Now that you’ve given in…I have to ask,” he murmured as his mouth trailed down her neck. “You won’t mind taking care of a cripple?”

Brienne’s head fell back in pleasure. “You’re not a cripple,” she managed, her voice breathless.

“Yes I am,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Well, technically, but—oh, _Jaime_ …”

He was really going to enjoy making her forget what she was saying in the future. He had a feeling he was going to be very good at it. Then he was the one who forgot what he was thinking as her short nails raked over his scalp.

They kissed in the corner for a long time, like teenagers who had just discovered necking. Then, all at once, Jaime realized they weren’t the only ones that had sought some privacy.

Tyrion had brought Margaery out onto the deck. They had at least had the sense to bring jackets, unlike Jaime and Brienne. Tyrion was keeping his hands behind his back and he was smiling like a man with a delicious secret. Margaery was giggling, sounding nervous but excited.

“We can’t stay long, people will notice.”

Tyrion shrugged and grinned. “There’s no gossip they can spread about me that’s more salacious than what I’ve actually done.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Margaery said, but she seemed more amused than scandalized.

“We should go,” Brienne whispered. Jaime agreed, but there was no way back into the building without revealing themselves to the other couple. He started to move out from behind the shrub, but Tyrion was pulling his hands out from behind his back. Tucked in his palms was a long, rectangular box. He opened it, revealing a beautiful emerald necklace which would suit Margaery perfectly.

“It’s not a ring, because I hadn’t actually planned to do this yet,” he said, “but I _am_ asking. Will you marry me, Margaery?”

Jaime didn’t hear a recognizable yes, just a lot of gasping, sobbing and laughing. He buried his face in Brienne’s neck, smiling, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder and murmured, “I _knew_ it!”

“You can come out now,” Tyrion said to them. “I can see your dress, Brienne.”

Brienne jerked in Jaime’s arms, but he just laughed. Of course Tyrion had spotted them. He delighted in embarrassing others: it seemed to nourish him more than food or drink. He untangled himself from Brienne’s embrace and took her hand, pulling her out of their hiding spot and into the glowing fairy light of the deck.

“Congratulations!” Brienne said, her blush visible even in the dim lighting. Jaime clapped his brother on the shoulder, beaming with happiness.

“I suppose you both already know what we’re going to ask you,” Margaery commented. Tyrion nodded, his eyes shining with joy, as his fiancée took both of Brienne’s hands in her own.

“Bri, will you be my maid of honor? You did make this possible, after all.”

Brienne—of course—agreed at once. Tyrion turned to his brother.

“Will you stand up with me on my wedding day as my best man?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jaime replied, touched. Then he smiled and added, “Does this mean I get to plan the bachelor party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A final interlude involving more kissing and some wedding planning. After that: Tyrion and Margaery’s wedding :D


	13. A Third Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the absence, but to make up for it, here's some good news: the entire story is written. I'm typing and editing it now, but I have gotten the whole thing on paper now. There are 17 chapters in total and they should all be posted soon.
> 
> Thank you for your support and patience!!

They had been planning Tyrion and Margaery’s wedding for six months when he asked her.

They were sitting in a café in King’s Landing, in the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood of Flea Bottom. Brienne had taken advantage of another university lecture to travel to the city and spend a weekend with Jaime. Sometimes they even emerged from his bedroom long enough for them to do some real work on the wedding. Brienne was blissfully happy, but it was getting harder and harder to board the plane that took her back to Tarth.

She would have to make that journey again tonight, leaving Jaime behind for a few more weeks until she had the funds to return. He must have seen the forlorn look on her face because he covered her hand with his own, drawing her eyes to his.

“We should move in together,” he said.

There were things to think about before they did, she knew. There was his work to consider, and her own. Were they moving too fast? It had only been half a year. What happened if they broke up?

All of these things crossed Brienne’s mind. She ignored them.

“Yes,” she said.

So they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Brienne ventures into the lion's den.


	14. Tyrion and Margaery I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne enters the lion's den, Jaime is reminded why he avoids family reunions as a rule.

Eight months after that, and five months after they had finally finished unpacking all of their things into their new apartment, it was time to travel to Casterly Rock for the wedding. By then, Brienne was so heartily sick of golden roses she thought she might pitch herself into the western sea, but Jaime reminded her that it was colder than the waters around Tarth and she refrained. Tyrion was a mad-man, dashing all over the family estate to make sure things were perfect, but Margaery was an oasis of serenity.

How she managed it with Olenna muttering about the shady history of ‘that family,’ and Tywin presiding over it all with his cold, appraising gaze, Brienne had no idea. She didn’t think that things could get worse for the bride, and then Cersei and Robert arrived.

Cersei loathed Tyrion, but he was used to her attempts to ruin any of his life’s bright moments and was fully prepared to ignore her every word. Margaery was not. Brienne feared for her friend…but quickly realized she need not have. Margaery was so sweetly, unfailingly pleasant that it rendered all of Cersei’s rage impotent. Still, her barbs promised to wear on everyone long before the festivities were over.

“I shall be gaining a sweet sister at last,” Cersei said to Margaery. “Tell me, was it my brother’s famous good looks that attracted you—or his share of the money?”

Brienne’s hands clenched into fists, but Margaery only laughed as though Cersei had said something truly witty.

“I knew you were beautiful, but no one told me you were funny too,” she said. Cersei looked ready to spit in her face, but Robert muscled passed her to greet the bride before she could reply.

“Well. This will be interesting to say the least,” Jaime said, draping his arm around Brienne’s waist.

“Why does your sister hate Margaery?” she whispered to him. He gave her a small, grim half-smile.

“Oh, she doesn’t hate Margaery—or maybe she does, Margaery is pretty and easy to like. But no, it’s Tyrion she hates.”

Brienne, who still felt the loss of her siblings keenly, couldn’t find the words to answer. It seemed…sad to her. Tragic. She doubted that Cersei would appreciate her pity, but Brienne couldn’t help thinking she deserved it.

She was distracted from Cersei by another intimidating figure: Olenna Tyrell. The old woman approached them bot with a distinct lack of expression. Brienne remembered Tyrion’s comment about the old lady wanting a match between Jaime and Margaery and she felt suddenly nervous. Again, she was worried for nothing. Olenna stopped in front of them and gave Brienne a mischievous, knowing look.

“So, you’re the lion tamer. I have to admit, you’re not what I expected, but I must say I admire your backbone.”

Brienne blinked. “My backbone?” she repeated.

“I know it was you that arranged this. I heard what you said to Margaery—and Tyrion.”

“Oh. Oh, I—” How could she have heard? She’d been alone when she’d encouraged first Margaery and then Tyrion to pursue their happiness no matter what—or who—was against him.

“Ah, don’t worry.” Olenna waved her awkward stammering away, then she tapped her cane on the floor. “In a way, I was testing Margaery. I won’t always be here to guide her, and her father is a prize idiot, though I love him dearly. I needed to know she could stand on her own. And you are more astute than I would have guessed: you saw in Tyrion something I did not. You saw that he doesn’t need Tywin or the Lannister money to make something of himself. Margaery can help him to do so. I have reconsidered and find myself entirely in favor of the match, but I must thank you for pushing those two in the right direction.”

Brienne wasn’t sure what to say. She decided to play it safe and replied with a simple, “It was my pleasure, my lady.”

Jaime nodded to Olenna with a bland, pleasant smile. As soon as he could manage it, he pulled Brienne away from everyone else. They escaped out to one of the terraces facing the sea. Brienne breathed in the salt air and let it soothe her.

“I’ve never seen my brother so happy,” Jaime said, studying the waves that crashed below them. “I wonder if they’ll stay or if they’ll run off to some place exotic where the expectations aren’t quite so high.”

Brienne eyed him. “What would you do?”

“I always thought I’d stay. My whole life has been a series of preparations to manage the company and holdings and the family’s private properties. But I’ve never been suited for it and I think my father will outlive us all, purely out of spite.”

Brienne laughed. “He does seem…timeless.”

“That’s giving him too much credit, but I supposed it won’t hurt if you suck up to him a bit.”

She shot him an arch look. “I will not.”

His answering grin was boyish and he said, “No, I know you won’t. He’ll like that about you, once he gets to know you better. It’s the sort of thing he respects.”

Sometimes, like in this moment, it surprised her how easily Jaime spoke of their future; like it was a certainty, like them not being together was unnatural or unimaginable. It filled her with warmth when she realized he made plans which included her even years from now, and that he did it without even thinking about it. It wasn’t easy for her to have the same confidence, but she was learning. Whenever she did speak of their future, he seemed to glow with a quiet, profound happiness.

They stood on the terrace for a while, enjoying the peace of the moment in the midst of all the wedding chaos. Then they rejoined the other guests. Everyone mingled well enough until dinner, when Cersei finally managed to get Brienne alone. Though she was older than Brienne and her friends, no signs of age marred her perfect, youthful features. She was as stunning as a sculpture, but her skin had the lovely flush of life and her eyes sparkled like gemstones. A slight smile curled her lips, but there was something wrong about it: something brittle and cruel. It made her beauty seem cold and sneering.

“You’re the beast Jaime is dating.”

“I’m Brienne.”

“He went from me—to you?” Cersei’s lips twisted. She seemed torn between a derisive laugh and a sneer. “I wouldn’t have imagined he would be turned on by shoulders as broad as his own, or a chest like a bull.”

Brienne stood, listened to this woman echo all of the nasty words of self-doubt she so often told herself, and waited to feel something. She waited for the self-consciousness, the doubt, the rage. Then she realized that none of these things were coming. Because no matter what Cersei said to her, Jaime loved her and she trusted in his love for her even though they hadn’t exchanged those actual words yet. It didn’t take away her body image issues or erase her fears, but it allowed her to step back from them for a moment and think rationally. Cersei couldn’t touch her when she did that.

“He’ll leave you. I promise you that. All I have to do is crook my finger. He’s wanted me for years and he’ll come back the moment I call,” Cersei hissed, her poisonous tone at odds with the bland look on her face, meant to deceive anyone who happened to glance over into thinking they were having a pleasant conversation.

Brienne shrugged. “So call,” she said, and walked away to join the others in the large sitting room.

\- - - 

“You’ve certainly made an…interesting choice,” Tywin said the next morning. He’d summoned Jaime—literally summoned, as a lord might have summoned a vassal in the old days. A servant had brought a message on a tray, a gesture so ridiculous in the age of cell phones that Jaime had almost thought he’d been dreaming when he accepted the paper.

“You could have just sent a text,” Jaime said. He and his father were standing outside of Casterly Rock’s sept while Tywin oversaw the final decorations going up around the building.

“Tarth is a small island, not a lot of material wealth and no notable exports,” his father said, ignoring Jaime’s comment.

“How thoughtful of you to learn something about where my girlfriend is from,” Jaime replied, allowing his words to drip with sarcasm. Tywin ignored this as well.

“Tourism is starting to boom. Selwyn Tarth has enough sense to begin development with that in mind. Your connection with the daughter could be lucrative if she can help us reach a business deal with her father. Land, perhaps a few time shares…”

“I’m not dating her for the benefit of our company, father,” Jaime said through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps not, but it would be foolish not to make the most out of it,” Tywin replied with the serenity of a glacier. “I hope I haven’t raised a fool.”

“You raised two fools, in fact. There’s still hope for Tyrion.”

Tywin stared at him, stared _into_ him. “I merely wanted to say that I have no objections to your romantic interest in this woman. You might have chosen better, but her prospects are decent enough.”

“I’m so relieved,” Jaime replied. Tywin nodded as though Jaime had sincerely meant those words.

“If that was all? Or even if it wasn’t, I’m done here.” Jaime left his father. He had no patience for the old man’s accounting of the world and everyone in it. He wanted Tyrion. He wanted Brienne. Neither one of them made him feel like a bead on an abacus.

He found his brother first. Tyrion was in the main kitchen, chatting easily with their father’s head chef about the history and myriad uses of a particular Essosi pepper, some of which sounded surprisingly—and frighteningly—practical. The chef was explaining the mind-altering effects of the pepper and Tyrion was listening with great interest. He’d always been fascinated by such substances, though alcohol was his solitary drug of choice.

“I hope none of that will be on the menu for the rest of us,” Jaime said as he joined his brother. He pulled up a barstool and sat at the kitchen’s island, which was where washing and chopping were done. 

“Spoilsport,” Tyrion replied. “No, no hallucination-inducing peppers for you lot, though it would be an interesting experiment. We’ll be having the old standbys: surf and turf, with a Dornish-inspired vegetarian option, or so Margaery has told me. Now, tell me why you’re here and not with your statuesque lady. You’ve hardly left her side since you arrived.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “And leave her at Cersei’s mercy?”

“You’ve got me there.” Tyrion gestured and a glass of wine was placed before each of them.

“Father…requested my presence.”

The younger Lannister groaned. “Don’t tell me, he’s already planning Tarth’s hostile take-over as punishment for Brienne daring to lift her gaze to you.”

“Worse. A merger, starting with marriage and then expanding into the realm of business and tourism.” Jaime studied the neat rows of cooking utensils, at the gleaming tools and appliances that filled the room. All were being quietly and efficiently cleaned by the staff as the chef inspected every nook and cranny.

“Ambitious. Selwyn’s refused other offers. Though I suppose if you and Brienne marry, his side of things would stay in the family, after a fashion.”

“Please. I’m not going to marry Brienne for her island.”

Tyrion’s sharp eyes were examining his face. “But you _are_ going to marry her?”

Jaime shrugged, hoping he appeared casual though his heart leapt into his mouth at the mere mention of it. He forced some moisture into his dry mouth and managed a strangled, “Yes. If…if she’ll have me.”

“I’d like to state for the record that I’m a huge fan of this new, humble you, but…you’re speaking as though you’ve nothing to offer.”

Jaime made a face at his brother. He waved his stump in Tyrion’s face and then added, in a grim voice, “Cersei.”

“Those are only two parts of you. Parts, I might add, Brienne is already aware of and has, presumably, accepted. I think your chances are fairly good, sweet brother.”

Jaime paused, then shook his head slowly. “It’s too soon.”

Tyrion shrugged. “That’s for you two to decide. Now, congratulate me again on my funny, smart, resourceful, amazing bride.”

Jaime laughed. That was easy, as it was all true. “Congratulations, Tyrion. Give me lots of nieces and nephews.”

Tyrion waggled his eyebrows. “Well, I can make that promise and be sure to keep it. In roughly six months, in fact.”

Jaime’s mouth fell open. “Truly?” he asked, and when Tyrion smiled and nodded, he launched himself off of his barstool to find a bottle of champagne. A moment later, the bubbling, golden liquid had been poured into two fresh glasses.

“To your happiness—and your family,” Jaime said. Tyrion tapped his glass against his brother’s.

“And to yours—may it come for you more quickly than you expect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Tywin corners Brienne, Jaime tells Brienne something important.


	15. Tyrion and Margaery II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Tywin have a chat and Jaime tells Brienne something important.

Olenna and Tywin spoke in cool, civil tones about the decorations, the dinner preparations and the guests. They were perfectly polite, yet there was an odd tension that made everyone—staff and family alike—scurry away. Cersei tried to play the same game, used those same careful, blade-sharp words as weapons, but she wasn’t as good at it as she thought. Tyrion bristled whenever any of those three drew near enough to converse with, but not even they could squash his joy, which Brienne observed with a light heart. What she couldn’t take lightly was the effect it was all having on Jaime. There was a distance between them whenever his family was near, but when he looked at her his eyes burned with need, with a kind of helpless desperation, and she knew that he was being cautious to protect her from them. At night, when they were alone, he held her and pressed his face into her neck. She held him back, then let him tease her into bed. And when they were there, neither of them worried about anyone else.

The morning came again, and Cersei drew Jaime away right after breakfast. Brienne moved restlessly through the halls of Casterly Rock. She would need to prepare for the photos and ceremony, but the hours between then and now stretched before her. She paused near the sea, letting the sound of the waves clear her mind. A familiar person joined her.

“We’re a lot to take on, as a family unit,” Tyrion said. “Sure you’re up for it?”

Brienne glanced down at him. “That’s not…no one has asked…”

“Not yet. Soon, I’d wager.” Tyrion smiled. “But, sooner or later, the question still stands.”

Brienne ducked her head. She was unsure how to answer. She wanted to say yes without hesitation, but the thought of Tywin and Cersei...Tywin looked at her like a safe he didn’t have the combination to, and Cersei’s gaze was always burning with hatred when their eyes met.

“Ah, well…I imagine it’s much the same for Margaery. You should speak with her. She may ease some of your fears. Or at the very least, share them.”

“I may take her up on that, if I ever…if he…” Brienne couldn’t finish the sentence.

“When, Brienne.” Tyrion smiled at her again and squeezed her hand. “When.”

Then he left her near the sea to wrestle with her thoughts and her hopes.

\- - -

Jaime pulled on his suit jacket, glanced at the tie that Brienne was holding out to him, and then knocked her hand gently away so he could kiss her. She flushed, his lady of eternal blushes, and he smiled against her lips.

“Why are we getting dressed? Because I’d much rather be removing clothes instead of putting them on…”

“We have pictures…and the ceremony,” she managed between kisses. “We have our duties to perform.”

“Dutiful Brienne.” Jaime’s hand slid up her side, teased the strap of her dress. “It’s one of the many things I admire about you, until it’s keeping me out of our bed,” he said. Brienne groaned and then laughed, covering his hand with her own before he talked her back between the sheets.

“Later. I promise.”

“And you always keep your promises. Alright, wench, have it your way. But if you want to sneak away at any point…” He quirked his eyebrows at her. She laughed once more and, quicker than a blink, looped his tie around his neck and began knotting it. He rested his hand and stump on her hips and stared up at her with such blatant affection that she blushed again. He wondered if he’d ever tire of the sight, then decided that would be impossible as she dropped her blue eyes from his. The past few days at his ancestral seat had been exhausting, but he took strength from her.

Cersei’s cruel words from the morning rang in his memory. They had been mocking, vile things that poured from her mouth with the ease of someone long used to abuse. He had stared at his sister and marveled at how he had never realized who she was. Her sweet words for him had drowned everything else out. But now—he felt nothing. Less than nothing; he felt repulsed by the bile that had so long consumed her.

Brienne had none of that bile. No hatred, no ulterior motives, nothing but honesty and goodness and honor.

“I love you,” he said. Brienne froze, her fingers still resting on the knot of his tie. Her eyes came up to his once more, wide and shocked. He touched her fingers at his neck. “I don’t expect you to say it back so soon. I just wanted you to know.”

“Jaime—”

Now his fingers touched her lips. He smiled and tried to reassure her with his eyes.

“It’s enough for me that you know. Truly.”

Brienne hesitated, then nodded. His fingers fell away from her mouth, trailed down her arm and laced with hers.

“Now, my dutiful lady, we have pictures to take, do we not?”

She gave him a shy smile and they headed down toward the gardens for wedding photographs. As they left the room, he leaned into her and said, “You do know I’m going to do my best to make you blush during the photo shoot, don’t you?”

She jabbed him in the ribs and he laughed, giving her hand a squeeze.

\- - - 

Jaime was just as incorrigible as he’d promised he’d be. He whispered the sort of things in her ear that she’d previously only read in romance novels. Twice, the photographer had to call a halt so she could cool her blistering cheeks. Margaery only laughed and kissed her cheek, whispering, “I’m glad you’re so happy,” before she disappeared to put her wedding gown on. There would be more pictures after the ceremony, but the rest of them had a break while Margaery finished preparing. Brienne began to follow her along with the other bridesmaids, but Tywin stepped into her path.

“Father—” Jaime started, stepping toward them.

“I only wish to speak with your charming lady for a moment. I won’t keep her long. I’m aware Margaery has need of her.” Tywin didn’t spare Jaime a glance. He kept his gaze on Brienne, and after a moment she gave him a polite smile and inclined her head.

He took her arm and led her down a garden path. They wound their way deeper into the maze of blooms, silent as they walked. Then, all at once, Tywin stopped, dropped Brienne’s arm and gave her a hard stare. His eyes raked over every inch of her. His face betrayed no emotion, but she suspected he was making note of every one of her unworthy, unwomanly features. Finally, Tywin spoke. 

“I could break your father without even trying. It would be so easy: a financial crisis would wipe him out by year’s end.” His voice was expressionless, as if ruining her father didn’t matter to him at all. Of course it didn’t.

“I say this not to threaten, but to promise you this: if you trifle with my son to get your hands on the Lannister fortune, I will destroy you father’s business prospects utterly and without mercy. I don’t care if you love Jaime. I don’t care about your happiness. I hope you’re both sensible enough to make some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement. But I will not tolerate fortune hunters poaching for my family. Do you understand?”

Brienne didn’t answer for several long moments. She gazed at the ground and frowned thoughtfully as Tywin finished his speech. She allowed him to think she was considering his words. Then she looked up and pinned him with a fierce blue gaze.

"I understand completely, my lord,” she said. “Now you need to understand me: I don’t care about your house, or your business, or your money. I care about your son. I _love_ your son, and any arrangement we make will be no concern of yours.”

Then, trembling, Brienne left him alone in the beautiful gardens she knew he didn’t truly appreciate. Behind her, Tywin nodded. He was satisfied.

\- - -

The ceremony went without a hitch, and it was beautiful. Olenna pretended to weep with happiness. Tyrion actually _did_ weep, just a little, as he stared up at his breathtaking bride. Jaime didn’t look at anyone but Brienne, with a smile that nearly broke her heart with its sweetness. Cersei left the moment the ceremony was over, but everyone else crowded around Tyrion and Margaery to congratulate them. Even Tywin shook his son’s hand, though afterward he disappeared as completely as Cersei.

Everyone trailed out to the gardens for dinner, then they began dancing among the fairy-lit flowers. Brienne found Margaery. Her friend sparkled as brightly as the stars above, as beautiful as the golden roses her family was famous for.

“I’d ask if you’re happy, but I can see you are,” Brienne said. Margaery clasped her hands.

“I am. And it’s thanks to you and Jaime. Trying to help you find each other led me to Tyrion.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Better than most people give him credit for,” the bride agreed, glancing at her new husband. “We’ll show them all, though.”

Brienne squeezed her hands. “I know you will,” she replied. Then she bent, kissed Margaery’s cheek, and let her return to Tyrion’s side. She took a deep breath and went to find Jaime.

He was down a short, trellised pathway which ended in a small courtyard. A beautiful fountain was at the center of the courtyard, and Jaime was watching the water as it bubbled into the basin at the bottom. Around them, fairy lights cast a soft glow over the gardens. Brienne stopped at his side, listening to the babbling water of the fountain and feeling peace settle over her.

“This place felt like home, once. I have good memories here, but…” He shook his head. “Every time I come back, I can’t wait to leave again. Father wants it all to come to me, but I think I’ll give it all to Tyrion instead. He’ll be much better at running things than I am anyway.”

“And you?” Brienne asked, watching him in the glowing light. “What will you do if it all goes to Tyrion?”

Jaime glanced at her, gave her the sort of half-smile that made her knees wobble.

“Oh, I was hoping to run away to an island. Spend my life near the sea with lots of golden-haired children.”

Brienne smiled back, a little shy but with growing confidence. She went into his arms with a happy sigh.

“Any island in particular?” she asked as he began to sway them in a slow dance.

“I did have one in mind. Pretty place. Nicknamed the Sapphire Island for its crystal-clear waters, I’ve heard.” He kissed her. “Let’s go home, Brienne.”

Brienne grinned at him through her suddenly ferocious blush. “We will—but first, I have a promise to keep.”

\- - -

Later, much later, as they caught their breath in the dark comfort of their bed, Brienne whispered, “I love you,” to Jaime. He caught her hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn.

“I love you, wench. I always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: A last peek between weddings


	16. A Final Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery curses a lot and Brienne has a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done!! These last two chapters are very short so I'm posting them together. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Also, my next multi-chapter is starting to come together and is *VERY LOOSELY* based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping." I hope you'll check that one out when it comes along!!

_King’s Landing  
Six Months Later_

Margaery Tyrell-Lannister knew an impressive amount of curses and she had employed them all—in an equally surprising number of combinations—during the thirteen long hours of her labor. Tyrion didn’t take a single one to heart. He reminded her about her breathing exercises as they waited for her to fully dilate, and he kept dashing in and out of the delivery room to join those friends and family that had gathered to support the couple. He also spoke knowledgably with the doula and was generally unable to sit still for more than five minutes. Sansa and Jeyne had brought by essential oils and knitted clothes they’d made for the new baby themselves. Sansa was also pregnant and just beginning to show.

Brienne had no idea what to do with herself while they waited. Jaime looked relaxed, content to stretch out in a plastic waiting room chair while the newest Lannister made its way into the world. She felt restless, unsure of how to help. Tyrion always made a point of stopping by to speak with her, but he then he’d disappear back into the delivery room and she found herself wanting to pace the room once more.

Then, finally, Margaery was ready to push. Tyrion came out to let them know, then he joined his wife. Jaime finally sat up straight and flashed Brienne a grin. “It won’t be long now, I think,” he said.

It took another hour, but then a dazed, exuberant Tyrion came out into the waiting room.

“A daughter!” he announced. His eyes met Jaime’s. “Our little Joanna.”

The room erupted in cheers as the brothers smiled at each other.

“In a few minutes, we can all see her. I’m going back to Margaery, but I hope you’ll all celebrate with us in a few days.”

He hugged his brother and headed back into Margaery’s delivery room. Twenty minutes later, Jaime and Brienne were welcomed inside.

Joanna Tyrell-Lannister was resting in Margaery’s arms. Tyrion was leaning against his wife’s side, staring down at his little girl with wonder in his eyes.

“Come meet her,” Margaery said, looking so pretty and soft, so happy, that Brienne’s breath caught. She came to stand beside the bed and looked down at the tiny bundle in her friend’s arms. The baby was wrinkled and red, but she had light eyes and sandy blonde hair, and her little fingers were wrapped around Tyrion’s thumb.

“Beautiful,” she said, reaching out to touch Joanna’s feathery hair.

“Mother would have adored her,” Jaime said to Tyrion. The brothers smiled at one another again. The five of them sat in companionable silence as Joanna drifted to sleep against her mother’s breast. Then Brienne excused herself and Jaime.

“We’ll see you at Joanna’s party,” she promised the new parents as they left.

Jaime drove them to their hotel. They had a suite high above most of the city. As evening fell, Brienne stepped out onto the balcony and looked out over the city, out to the ocean that waited just beyond the old city walls. Jaime joined her, his eyes following hers to the endless blue.

“They looked so happy,” she said.

“They did,” Jaime agreed.

“I never wanted that. A baby, I mean. I never let myself want that, because I was convinced it would never be possible for me,” she told him. He turned from the sea to study her face.

“I’ve always wanted it. I’ve wanted a big family for as long as I can remember.” He paused. “But if you don’t, I…it’s alright. We’re enough. What we have is enough.”

Brienne met his gaze. “I want it. I want a family. I want _your_ family, Jaime.”

For a moment, he seemed not to have heard her. Then, like the sun bursting over the ocean at dawn, he smiled.

“You mean—?” he asked. Brienne smiled back at him.

“Yes.” She felt the flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks, but her voice was steady. “Jaime Lannister, will you marry me?”

Jaime pulled her into his arms and held her tight as he breathed her in.

“Yes, I’ll marry you. As soon as we can.”

“As soon as we can,” she agreed in a whisper, and let him lead her to their waiting bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Brienne is a bride at last.


	17. Jaime and Brienne, At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final wedding <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS AND SUPPORTING ME!! You are all amazing and inspiring and I have really loved this journey. I can't wait to share more stories with you all!!

They married on Tarth under a warm summer sun, in a ceremony by the sea.

Brienne had no bridesmaids, but she’d gathered five matrons of honor: Margaery, Sansa, Arya (who’d eloped with Gendry just two months before), Jeyne and Daenerys. The theme for her bachelorette party had been, “A bride at last!” which had made her laugh, but Jaime had been worth the wait. With the waves crashing into the sand only a few dozen feet away, she walked across the beach to meet Jaime and the septon. He was tall and golden in the sun, beaming with joy. Together, they said the words and were bond to one another before all of their friends and family.

At the party afterward, everyone cheered as they stepped into a boat and sailed away, heading around the island to a small harbor and a private pier. Waiting for them was a lovely villa. It was Selwyn Tarth’s, built from money he’d made by bolstering Tarth’s tourism. For the next two weeks, Jaime and Brienne would have it to themselves.

“Have I ever told you,” Jaime said the next morning as they enjoyed breakfast in bed, “that my father is your biggest fan?”

Brienne laughed and he smiled at the sound. “What?” she asked.

“Oh yes. He was quite impressed by your speech to him at Tyrion’s wedding.” Jaime slanted a glance at her. “What did you say to him?”

“The truth,” she replied with a shrug.

“Hm. Well, keep your secrets if you must, wench.” He grinned at her. “How soon were you thinking of starting that family we talked about?”

“Jaime!” Brienne laughed as he tackled her back into the pillows, barely giving her enough time to shove the breakfast dishes out of the way. Then he was kissing her and any further protests died away, replaced by desire and the sort of sweetness she’d never thought she’d experience.

\- - -

They had five children in all, two girls and three boys raised by the sea. Their Tyrell-Lannister cousins, a girl and twin boys, were frequent visitors, along with the Clegane, Blackwater, Targaryen, Tyrell-Baratheon and Waters families.

Cersei and her children were not.

“Are you still happy here in Tarth?” Brienne asked one night, a handful of years later. “With Tyrion running things in King’s Landing?”

“Every moment.” Jaime kissed her. “You are my honor, my joy. My love.”

She knew she was, he told her all the time. But she’d never grow tired of hearing him say the words. “You’re mine,” she replied. “I love you, Jaime.”

As the dawn crept over their island home, they held one another and indulged in their love for each other again. Perhaps, in a few months, a sixth little Lannister would make an appearance…she hoped it was so, and knew Jaime did too.


End file.
